


A Quick Dip

by Emily_F6



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Irondad, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:15:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: Tony Stark received the notification as he stepped into the courtyard, Friday speaking softly to him through the earpiece he wore at all times. "Sir, Spiderman's parachute has deployed."





	1. Halfway Across the World

****

1\. Halfway Across the World

Tony Stark received the notification as he stepped into the courtyard, Friday speaking softly to him through the earpiece he wore at all times. "Sir, Spiderman's parachute has deployed."

Tony wasn't sure why Peter Parker, the overly earnest and energetic kid from Queens, was high enough in the air to deploy his parachute, but he mostly stuck to the small stuff anyway, at least according to Happy. Muggings and giving directions and the occasional break in. Maybe he'd slipped while doing backflips on the Empire State Building. Either way, the kid could take care of himself. He'd been doing just fine on his own...the last thing he needed was for Tony to butt in.

Tony had enough to deal with. And he liked the kid, sure. Peter seemed like a good kid, and maybe when he was older, he might be an Avengers candidate. But for now, Tony would let him help give old ladies directions and do his nerd clubs. He was a testament to what happened when you took kids out of their element and you pushed them too hard...the thought of what had happened to him happening to Peter Parker made his heart twist a little. He wasn't his father. He wasn't the kid's father either.

Honestly, he hadn't really wanted to go on this trip, but Pepper had insisted that this meeting could not be missed. There were talks of mergers with Mr. Patal's company...not exactly a tech giant but getting there. And Stark Industries didn't have a presence in India, so Pepper had wanted him to come along to give reassurances. No, they wouldn't be firing anyone. Actually, he had plans for expanding...hopefully opening up more jobs, too, although that was a work in progress. So he'd done as she'd asked, considering she did run his company for him...and cover for the many meetings he missed.

So he'd agreed to go on the trip, chuckling at Happy's whining in the background. "The kid has left me thirteen voicemails this week, Tony. Thirteen!"

"Hey, you're my point man. If you want to call and crush the kid's spirit, be my guest. Tell him to stop giving you reports."

"I didn't ask him to give daily reports in the first place, Tony!"

"On second thought, don't do that. I like those. I play them when I can't sleep."

"Then give him your number!" Tony had placed a neatly folded shirt in his suitcase, zipping it up and sliding his sunglasses on, grinning at Happy through yellow lenses.

"You're doing great, Hap. I'll be back in a week. Make sure the kid sticks to the ground. And maybe take him out to lunch or something. Get to know him. You might like him!"

"Tony…". Happy had started, his voice a growl, but Tony had already been on his way out.

"Thanks, Hap!"

Now he flinched a little at the hot, Indian sun after being in a boardroom all day. It would be about 1 am in New York, a little past the Spiderling's usual patrol time, but the kid was probably just messing around...maybe he'd made another web tightrope. That had been pretty cool.

Tony would need to reinstall that parachute, though.

"Friday, be a dear and remind me to get the Spiderling up to the Compound so I can fix his parachute?"

"Yes, sir." It might be nice to see the kid again. Maybe gently suggest that Peter stop leaving Happy so many voicemails. Just….cut it down to a few times a week. The kid was eager, that was for sure. A good kid. And Tony liked him. But the kid needed to stick close to the ground for a while.

Tony smiled at one of the ladies from the meeting, dressed in a business suit and a sari, trying to remember what she was the regional director of. Sales? Finance? It was on the tip of his tongue. His eyes strayed to a drink tray, and he followed the man, hoping to snag one. Even in his white suit, the heat was stifling.

"Sir? Spiderman's vitals are dropping."

Tony paused, freezing in place as he started to reach for a drink. "What?" He asked the earpiece, tapping the side of his sunglasses to bring up the display of the kid's suit, drink forgotten. His stats were dropping...the kid's body temp, oxygen levels...all dropping.

"His vitals are dropping and he doesn't appear to be breathing."

"What?! Where is he?" Tony asked, a sharp spike of panic going straight to his heart as he tried to keep his voice down a little.

"He is currently 29 feet below the surface of the Hudson River and dropping." Icy cold terror spread to every part of him as he clenched a fist at his side.

"Deploy a suit. Now!" He hissed.

Peter was in the river. He was...he was drowning. Could the kid not swim? The kid hadn't mentioned it, but they hadn't exactly gotten that far in their relationship. It was possible!

"Of course, sir. The suit is sixty seconds out."

"What happened?"

"His parachute deployed. However the angle at which he was falling meant that he was tangled in the parachute, and he fell into the river."

Tony opened his mouth, but it was suddenly too dry to speak as he watched Peter's vitals drop further and further. Instead, he just shook his head. No. No way. This couldn't be happening. This kid was fourteen years old. No. Peter wasn't going to drown in the Hudson River at 1 in the morning while Tony was on the other side of the world.

"The suit is approaching the water." The earpiece informed him. He touched a button on the sunglasses and the display switched to that of his suit's. He touched a finger to his watch then, taking control as he remotely looked for Peter, staring around the depths of the almost black water in search of the boy. It was too dark...he switched on a headlamp, nausea turning his stomach. He didn't see the kid. He couldn't see him!

It took him another ten seconds to spot the kid, and he practically had to sit down, directing the suit to grab him under his arms, extracting the motionless figure from the parachute where he was tangled and then shooting back into the sky. He wanted to be there...wanted to actually feel the kid in his arms. But he couldn't...according to his vitals, Peter still hadn't taken a breath.

The suit lay Peter on the ground of a playground right on the shore, and he desperately scanned the readout.

"Sir, he isn't breathing," Friday informed him as if Tony didn't already know that!

"Start chest compressions. Now." Tony ordered the suit, and it began to follow his directions. "How far out is Happy?"

"Nearly an hour and a half."

Tony swore, left arm shaking as he stared through the display at the boy's mask, eye lenses open. He didn't want to pull the mask off...didn't want to risk seeing his slack face...couldn't bear to think of his open, unseeing eyes...the kid wasn't breathing and he was on the other side of the world, a suit pressing down on his chest to keep his heart beating hard enough with enough pressure that Friday informed him a rib had broken.

"Call him! Send him the coordinates. Who else is close?" Tony barked, moving into a separate room altogether away from the group mingling in the unbearable sun. On the other side of the world, Peter Parker wasn't breathing. He caught Pepper's eye and she frowned, going from somewhat annoyed to immediately concerned. Tony stepped out of the courtyard and into a cooler, darker space off to the side. He couldn't deal with onlookers at the moment.

"Steve Rogers is currently a mile away." Tony felt his throat close up. Steve.

Cap.

He would know Peter's identity.

The boy wasn't breathing.

It was no contest.

"Call him. Now!" He stared at the display in his sunglasses, ignoring the little window that popped up and showing the outgoing call to Steve who answered on the first ring. Under the suit's hands, Peter didn't even shiver. His temp was still dropping. And he was bleeding from his shoulders but Tony couldn't bring himself to care about that at the moment.

"Tony?" Came Steve's hesitant, sleepy reply.

"I need help." He all but snapped, knowing that he should pull the boy's mask off but unable to let the suit stop the compressions.

Vitals dropping.

He'd been out of the water for almost a minute and still wasn't breathing.

"Okay."

"I'm sending you coordinates. It's Spiderman. He was drowning...I have a suit doing compressions but…"

"I'm on my way."

Tony wanted to thank him but all he could do was watch the child's body jerk with each compression, trying not to focus on the dropping vitals or Friday's warning that he was going without oxygen for too long.

He knew what happened when people went for oxygen for too long.

Tony wasn't there. He couldn't help the kid.

He'd kept this kid at arm's length...hell, arm's length from Happy. And now...he was fourteen and he wasn't breathing and Tony couldn't give him rescue breaths because he wasn't. Fucking. There.

His heart felt like it was going to explode as he gripped a column, his entire sunglasses display filled with stats as the suit continued to keep the boy's heart beating. But what would that matter if he wasn't breathing?

Steve barely took a full minute to get there, leaping off of a motorcycle practically without stopping and dropped to his knees beside the boy, the motorcycle dropping to the ground by the bank. Tony moved the suit back a step, voice weak when he finally spoke.

"He needs rescue breaths." He croaked.

Steve ripped the mask off, not even pausing when he caught sight of the boy's face, tilting Peter's head back and pressing his mouth to his, then blowing into his lungs.

"Alright, kid. Stay with me, Spiderman." Steve muttered as he pressed his hands against the kid's chest, definitely breaking at least two more ribs. The boy had never looked smaller. "Come on, Queens. Come on." He put his mouth to the boy's again and Tony just watched, ignoring a call from Happy.

He was a continent away.

The kid was dying. Peter Parker wasn't breathing.

This couldn't be happening. Peter couldn't be dying.

Tony stood there, useless, as Steve continued compressions, giving Peter several more rescue breaths. The kid was on his academic decathlon team and had designed his own web fluid and he was so freaking good. "Come on, Spiderman," Steve muttered.

"Why did he fall! What happened? Why was he even out here?" Tony demanded, not caring that he was yelling. Steve didn't even glance up as he frantically pushed on Peter's chest.

"According to the baby monitor footage, Peter stumbled upon an illegal arms deal and attempted to stop it, but was captured by a man calling himself the Vulture. This man carried Peter over the river and dropped him in."

The Vulture. Right. So that was who was responsible for this...the one who'd...who'd...he couldn't even think it. This kid couldn't die. Not Peter. Not the kid who'd grinned and stammered and had the nerve to suggest that Tony couldn't tell when footage on Youtube was altered. Not the kid who had grinned up at him with those bright eyes, so anxious and excited.

The kid who'd hugged him in the back seat of Tony's car.

Tony would deal with this 'Vulture' guy himself.

"There you go, Queens." Steve murmured, and Tony snapped back to attention, jerking his head down to watch the boy cough, barely able to lift his head. Cap did it for him, helping him turn over so he could throw up the water. "There you go, kid. Just breathe."

The kid gasped for air and Tony squeezed his hand in a fist so tight he was surprised his fingers didn't break. "I'm on my way back." He croaked, forcing his eyes away from the shaking child on the ground who looked seconds away from unconsciousness, and way too small in Steve's arms.

He needed to get home.


	2. Drowning On Dry Land

Drowning On Dry Land

Peter Parker hit the surface of the Hudson River hard, the impact and the temperature both knocking the air out of him. Gasping for air just before he went under, he felt the parachute, which had deployed while he’d been falling but hadn’t done anything to slow his fall, wrap around him like a blanket as he did his best to get back to the surface. The parachute cord tangled around him, the fabric wrapping around his body as he thrashed. Grabbing at it with hands weak from the cold, he held his breath, trying to rip it off. Instead, he barely managed to tear it despite all his thrashing and kicking. Water filled his mask and his nose…it was so dark. Even with the mask, he could barely see! His lungs started to burn as he sank further and further, staring up at the sky above him that moved further and further away. He couldn’t get his body to swim…couldn’t escape the wires and strings and fabric wrapped around him.

Numbness slowly started to replace terror as he closed his eyes, the cold retreating, and his body finally stopped fighting, letting the water into his mouth and nose and into his lungs with a burning but distant pain. He was drowning…that was a thought that usually would have scared him, but he wasn’t scared. Not really. Honestly, he was just sleepy. The party at Liz’s house and Ned’s worry and Flash’s taunts…they were all receding to the background as he gave up on breathing.

He was drowning, but he wasn’t scared…he let go.

The next thing Peter knew was cold. Terrible, burning, aching cold that made his whole body shake. He was throwing up water and bile, throat burning, but someone was holding him up by his shoulder, a hand on his chest. “Alright, son. Just breathe for me.” He knew that voice, but couldn’t place it. Why? Why did he know that voice? He tried to ask, but water was forcing itself from his lungs along with bile and, probably, his dinner, and he couldn’t stop. “It’s alright, son. Let it out. It’s alright.” A hand moved to his back, rubbing firm circles until it finally stopped and Peter felt himself list sideways. He was immediately pulled close to the man holding him, pulled away from the pile of water and bile on the ground. “He’s freezing.”

“Wha…” Peter asked, blearily lifting his eyes to find out who was holding him.

“No talking just yet.” Captain Freaking America murmured, rubbing a hand up and down his arm. “Here.” The man shrugged a jacket off and wrapped it around Peter’s shoulders.

“Cold,” Peter whispered, and the man moved to sit closer, pulling Peter against his chest. The Avengers was like a heater, and all Peter could think about was the fact that the last time they’d seen each other, he’d stolen the man’s shield. But Mr. Rogers didn’t seem to care. Instead, he rubbed his hands up and down Peter’s arms as he struggled to get a breath that didn’t burn his lungs. He tried coughing again, eyes heavy. Giving up on keeping them open, he let them fall shut, dropping his head on the man’s huge, muscled chest.

Okay, so at one point, he’d had a crush on Captain America. Sue him.

“Hang on, son. We’re going to get you some help. Just hang on. Stark?”

Stark? Mr. Stark? Peter opened his eyes again and found the Iron Man suit standing a few feet away, water dripping from the armor.

“I’m turning on his heater.” The suit said, its mechanical voice terse. That was Mr. Stark, right? Was Mr. Stark in the suit? Had Mr. Stark saved him? Suddenly, his whole body was surrounded by delicious warmth and he groaned in appreciation. But then he was coughing again, shaking as his lungs rattled and every breath felt like a wheeze.

“Stark, he needs help.” He felt, more than heard Mr. Rogers say, his ear resting against the man’s chest.

“Happy is on his way.” The suit told them, taking a step away from them.

“Stark…”

Then the suit turned its head toward the sky, palms rotating to face the ground as the mask opened, revealing nothing but wires and machinery. “Tony Stark is no longer connected.” The suit informed them, and then it was flying away. Peter felt his eyes heat up, and, to his absolute horror, a sob escaped. Then another.

He was crying in front of Captain America.

Peter closed his eyes again and didn’t open them…didn’t dare. Couldn’t bear the thought of watching Captain America watch him break down like a baby. The man was quiet, though, pulling him closer and sitting on the ground so that Peter could lean against him.

Mr. Stark had just…left him? No. The man hadn’t even been there. Hadn’t even…

Peter cut that thought out, trying to push away from Steve Rogers, but the man’s arms were like really warm, comfortable steel bands. “Easy, son. Just stay there for a minute. We’re going to get you to the compound. A doctor needs to look at you.” The man muttered something else under his breath, but Peter was coughing again, gasping in pain at the burning in his chest. “Alright…just…hang on, Spiderman.” The man shifted, then was holding something to his ear. “Sam? Yeah, I need a car. Bring it to…” Captain America sighed and Peter let himself close his eyes, giving into the darkness that was hovering at the edge of his vision. “Nope. I need you to stick with me here, Queens.”

“What the hell…” He heard the Falcon’s voice on the other end. He’d only heard that man once before…at the airport. Mr. Stark had brought him to the airport. And he’d fought Falcon and the metal-armed guy…right? Why would the Falcon come here?

“Sam, bring a car. Spiderman is down and I need to get him to the Compound. Stark’s driver is on his way, but he’s freezing and he inhaled water…I’m afraid he’s going to get pneumonia out here.” There was beeping and Peter opened his eyes for just a second to watch the man touch a button on his phone. “Stark?”

“Happy is on his way. How’s the kid?”

“He needs medical attention now, Stark.” Captain America barked.

“I know…can you meet Happy halfway there? He can’t go to a regular hospital. I just…He needs to go to the compound and Happy is bringing supplies but…”

“I called Sam. He’s bringing a car.” Mr. Rogers cut him off.

“Just…I’m on my way back. I couldn’t carry him with the suit…Happy is on his way…” Mr. Stark didn’t sound right. Like…like he was having trouble breathing too. Just like Peter. But Mr. Stark hadn’t been in the water, right?

“Okay…Stark…”

“This is my fault. I didn’t…I thought he would be better off and…fuck. I…was sure that…that he would be…”

“Tony.” Captain America’s voice turned softer, and Peter shivered against his chest, letting his chin drop, eyes closing. “I’m going to get him to the compound. He’ll be there when you get back. Is your medical team ready?”

“Yeah…yeah. I had Friday call Happy so…Friday has his information. She would have informed them…”

“Good. I’ve got him for now. Just…get back here.”

“I’m on my way. And…thank you, Rogers.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

Peter had a vague notion that they were talking about him, but he couldn’t be sure. It was getting harder to focus. Instead, he left his head against Captain America’s chest, the man’s arms tight and warm around him, one hand rubbing Peter’s arm. Then the man was speaking again. “Sam?”

“I’m on my way. How bad is it?”

“He’s barely responsive. Body temperature too low. Difficulty breathing.” That was the last thing Peter heard until someone was pressing their fingers to his throat right over his suit. “The suit has a heater in it.” Mr. Rogers muttered. “So his body temperature is back to normal. I can’t get him to respond anymore…”

“Alright, short stuff. Come on. How about you open your eyes and show me that freaky spider web crap.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows, coughing painfully and trying to cover his mouth, but was unable to lift his arm. “S'not freaky.” He gasped out. The other person chuckled a little, but it was strained.

“Whatever you say, kid. Steve, put him in the back. Happy sent me the coordinates.”

Then Peter was being lifted and carried as Captain America stood and moved over to the car, folding himself into the back seat and holding Peter on his lap like a kid. “I talked to Stark’s bodyguard. We’re going to meet him…he has some medical supplies and oxygen. The kid apparently has a healing factor like yours but it sounds like he inhaled a lot of water.” The man in the front was talking softly, the car engine roaring as they sped along. Something was passed back and then wrapped around him. He opened his eyes a little and saw that there was a leather jacket on top of him.

“You with me, Queens?” Captain Rogers asked. Peter tried to make a noise…tried to nod. But every inhale was a wheeze, just like before the bite when he’d had asthma. He wondered if an inhaler would help but doubted it. So instead, he let himself sleep again, and then he was being picked up, another voice loud and almost frantic.

“Get him in the back. We have a med team waiting. How is he?”

“Barely responsive. Difficulty breathing. The heater in his suit is keeping him warm but he’s still wet.”

“Here.” Something was pressed over his mouth and nose and something soft hissed…and then warm air was being pumped against his face. A strap went behind his head, holding the mask in place, and Peter took deep breaths as best he could, flinching at the burning pain that still came with every breath.

“I know, kid. I know it hurts. We’re getting you some help.” Captain Rogers spoke softly, a hand moving through his curls. Peter had to fight the urge to cry…the man was trying to comfort him.

Mr. Stark had…he’d left. No…he hadn’t even been there and Peter hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell him about the Vulture and…and now he was crying, he realized. Crying in front of Captain America and the other guy…and Happy. He wasn’t a superhero…couldn’t even handle a guy in a wingsuit. Why had he thought he could handle this. “It’s alright, son. We’re getting you to the compound as fast as we can.”

“Hurts,” He wheezed, a weak hand lifting to his chest.

Something pressed to his chest and then moved. A disk? A stethoscope. “He’s got a lot of fluid in his lungs, Steve.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” Happy ground out. Of course Happy was irritated with him. He knew he got on the man’s nerves. Knew that Happy thought he was annoying.

Peter wanted his aunt. He wanted Ned. He wanted anyone…anyone familiar. These people were Avengers and a bodyguard. They didn’t know him, and one of them didn’t even like him. He couldn’t breathe and everything hurt and…and he was scared. “What’s his name?” Mr. Rogers asked. There was a long moment of silence, then Happy spoke up, voice gruff.

“Secret identity, Rogers.”

The Avenger sighed, sounding put out, but then placed a hand on Peter’s head, shifting him so that his legs were resting on someone else’s lap, his head cradled against Mr. Roger’s chest. “Alright, Queens. You’re alright.” The man rubbed his hand over Peter’s shoulder. “We’re getting you to doctors that can help. Tony is on his way back.”

Mr. Stark hadn’t been there. He’d sent a suit. The man hadn’t contacted him in months. He’d thought…he’d thought that Mr. Stark would have wanted to mentor him. Spend time with him. But…but the man had been ignoring him and now Captain America was comforting him and everything hurt and he just wanted his aunt and to stop crying in front of the Avenger.

The rest was a blur of gasping for air and being placed on a bed that moved too quickly down a hall as lights flashed by overhead. When they finally stopped, something was poking him in the side, and an intense, burning pain had him arching his back and screaming, fingers ripping the sheet under him. Two firm hands held him down and a quiet voice told him again and again that it was okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Finally, the burning stopped but his chest felt strange as he gasped for air. “Good man. You’re doing great, son.” Captain America told him softly, and he realized it must have been his hands holding him down, fingers pressing into the wounds on his shoulders. He wasn’t to ask the man to move his hands but couldn’t manage it, so he just closed his eyes, fighting the tears that kept falling. “You’re okay. Just rest now, Spiderman. The doctors are going to fix you up now.”

Peter didn’t know what that meant…didn’t understand what the man was saying. All he knew was that breathing hurt and that his head was swimming…everything hurt. He was crying in front of Captain America who now knew that he was Spiderman and everything hurt.

Mr. Stark hadn’t been there.

Something else was being pumped into the mask resting on his face…something that smelled different. He took deep breaths, eyes flashing around the room and finding Captain America who remained at his side, hands on his shoulders, carefully holding him down. The man saw him staring and gave him a tight smile. “You’re alright. Just rest. You’re alright.”

He didn’t feel alright. Still, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths and wondered, as he faded away, if he was still crying.

There were voices in the dark. “He was crying, Tony.” That voice was angry. Sharp. Reproachful.

“I know.” Someone whispered.

“He’s been calling for you.” Calling for who? Peter couldn’t remember calling for anyone. All he knew was that he was cold. So cold he was shaking. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and he was shaking and felt…strange. Clammy. Sweaty.

Peter didn’t care about the voices. He just wanted to sleep. So he did…he went back to the darkness, staying there until a cough woke him. His own cough. A pain that started in his chest and worked its way up his throat. No…not just pain. He was coughing up something. A hand slipped behind his back, another moving under his head, and he was held upright, arms keeping him from toppling over as he coughed up some kind of disgusting, thick fluid that he spit up into a bowl in front of his face.

The hand on his back patted him firmly, then rubbed circles over what felt like his bare skin…the hand was warm though, and he was so cold. He let his eyes slip shut again as the hands lowered him to the bed, pulling a blanket over him and then retreating. He didn’t want the hands to leave, though. He was cold and they were warm, so he reached out, searching until one of them captured his own hand. No one spoke, but the large, warm hand held his, squeezing gently, a thumb rubbing over his knuckles until he fell asleep again.


	3. Fake Internship Conferences

3\. Fake Internship Conferences

Tony shoved the door of the medical wing open almost too roughly. Had he been enhanced like the kid, he thought, he might have broken it. Busted a hole in the wall. But the kid was never too rough. He'd had powers for less than a year and still...he was strong. Stronger than Tony. More careful. Better. Better in every fucking way. And someone had thrown him into a river to drown. But that was something Tony would have to deal with later. Because the last time he'd seen that kid on a screen in his sunglasses while standing in a blazing courtyard in India, the boy had been coughing up water in Captain America's arms, looking all of ten years old.

This was a child. A fourteen-year-old child.

No, he realized as he pushed another door out of his way. Fifteen. His birthday was in August and it was mid-September. The boy had turned fifteen the month before. And Tony hadn't even sent him a card. Or had a secretary send a card. Or had Friday remind him so that he could send the kid an email or something. He'd pulled Peter into all this. Dragged a fourteen-year-old boy across the world without his guardian's permission and asking him to fight against Captain America and the rogue Avengers. Then he'd given him a new suit and left him to it, not even bothering to stick around and try to mentor the kid. He'd given him a twelve-second conversation about not getting in over his head, embarrassed the boy when he'd hugged him, and then he'd ignored him for months.

He'd thought about reaching out. He'd thought about actually mentoring the kid. But he was a Stark...Stark men broke just about everything they touched. It was a wonder he had the friends he did...the last thing he'd wanted was to push Peter Parker into the life of a superhero before the kid was ready. So he'd kept his distance and now…

The boy had been shaking and bleeding in Captain America's arms. According to Friday's reports, Peter had nearly drowned...Tony knew the types of complications that could come with inhaling water, especially the water of the Hudson River which couldn't be clean. Thankfully, so did Steve Rogers who had been the one to come to the boy's rescue when Tony couldn't. Rogers would get the boy to the medbay...had gotten the boy to the medbay. Peter was going to be fine. He had to be fine.

They'd put him on oxygen, according to Friday. He'd had her give him almost constant updates as he'd sat in the fastest jet known to man on his way back to New York from India. They'd put him on oxygen, but as soon as they'd gotten him to the compound, they'd had to use a chest tube to get some of the water out of his lungs. They'd stuck a needle in his lungs to drain out the water...and it had hurt. Tony knew that much. There had been six puncture wounds in his shoulders and back, but those had been healing already...it was his breathing that had worried Doctor Cho who had taken over the boy's care as soon as he'd come in.

An hour before he'd landed, Friday had given him the official diagnosis of pneumonia. Tony had flinched to hear it, but the kid would be fine. Steve had gotten the kid to Doctor Cho in time and the kid was going to be fine. People recovered from pneumonia. The kid had super healing and it would suck and he'd be in pain but he would be fine.

If he kept thinking it, maybe it would be true.

And Tony was going to do better. He'd be better this time. The kid would be okay and he'd be there. An actual mentor. Or something.

Tony stopped short when he stepped into the waiting room, eyes widening as he found not only Happy, but also Sam Wilson. Both men glanced up at him, seeming equally worried, although Happy was the only one that stood, moving to his side. "The kid...he couldn't breathe." He explained as if this was somehow his fault. As if Happy hadn't done everything Tony had asked of him. Happy should never have been in charge of the kid in the first place. Not that Happy hadn't done a good job...but Tony should have taken the time to mentor the kid. Keep an eye on him.

"Friday told me," Tony murmured, not wanting to talk about that. Not wanting to discuss the fact that Peter Parker, the kid who'd gotten superpowers and then had used them to religiously patrol his neighborhood helping people in disguise, hadn't been able to breathe. Had inhaled water and nearly drowned and now had pneumonia. He hated it. Hated it more than he'd ever hated anything. It wasn't fair that the kid would have to suffer like this.

He had every available resource searching for this Vulture guy. And he would find him. He would find him and he would make sure he never saw the light of day again...that he rotted in jail for the rest of his life. Until then, Tony would do what he should have done from the beginning. He'd look after this kid. Keep a closer eye on him. The kid deserved that much. And Tony might be a shitty mentor, but this time, at least he'd be a present shitty mentor.

"Tony?" He looked away from Happy and found Helen standing in the doorway, her expression serious as hse made her way over. He met her halfway, ignoring Spangles's bird friend for the minute. (Even as he thought that, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that those two men had saved Peter's life. Had they not gotten him to the compound, Peter might have died. They would be properly thanked for this.)

"How is he?"

"It's definitely pneumonia. He's still having difficulty breathing, and his fever is up to 103, but I have him on antibiotics. They're working more slowly than I'd like, but…" She trailed off. "I took a blood sample...I need to know more about his mutation before I can help him."

Tony nodded. This wasn't her fault either. Hell, she'd probably saved the boy's life. That was what she did...she saved the Avengers over and over. "Thank you." He told her, voice quiet.

"Steve stayed with him. I didn't want to tell him…" Tony waved a hand. There was no reason that she should have to get involved in the messed up politics of the Avengers. She was a doctor. He wanted her to focus on that. On saving Peter. On making sure that kid was okay.

"Steve's fine. We'll deal with all that later. For now, he and Sam are staying here. No one knows they're here, right Fri?" He asked.

"No, sir." The AI answered immediately.

"Good. Can I…" He gestured toward the doors and she nodded.

"Of course." Leading him down the hall, the two left Happy and Sam in the waiting room. Tony almost felt bad about that...but he needed to see the kid. Needed to see, with his own two eyes, that Peter was okay. Breathing. Not dead on the bank of the Hudson River. Because his brain kept replaying that visual. Kept reminding him of the suit, hands pressing the boy's chest down over and over, ribs snapping under the metal hands, the soft pop audible to him even through the suit, the display in the corner of his glasses showing him which ribs he was breaking.

Helen led him to a room where he found Peter...and Steve Rogers. He ignored Steve for the moment, focusing instead on the boy in the bed. The boy who had an oxygen mask over his mouth and who was dressed in a hospital gown. His suit was in a clear bag in the corner of the room...they'd apparently cut it off of him. That wasn't a big deal...he'd make another. This time, he'd let the kid help. And maybe he'd actually talk to the kid about the suit. Explain the protocols. Give him access to his AI.

He was going to do better.

Steve sat at the kid's side, face drawn, hands in his lap. "How old?" He asked immediately. Tony sighed. He hadn't slept in a long time and wasn't in the mood for an interrogation.

"Not now, Capsicle."

"How old is he, Stark?"

How long had it been since he'd slept? He hadn't been able to sleep on the flight. Hadn't been able to close his eyes for fear that he'd miss something. "Just turned fifteen last month."

"You have got to be…"

"Don't you dare start with me right now." Tony hissed, very aware of the pale child in the bed between them. "Not now. Not in his fucking hospital room."

"He was crying, Tony." Oh god, that hurt. He'd suspected, of course. Had seen the water on his face but had dismissed it...rationalized that it could have just been water from the river. But to hear Steve say that...to hear Captain America tell him that Peter Parker, a fifteen-year-old that Tony had given a superhero suit to and left to his own devices, who had told the boy that had so eagerly wrapped his arms around him that 'it wasn't a hug,' that they 'weren't there yet'...to hear that that child had been crying…

"I know." He whispered, willing himself to keep a good front...to keep himself from losing it.

"He's been calling for you."

The kid still wanted him. Still wanted Tony to be in his life.

Or maybe he was just delirious. He had a fever...was sick. He'd probably call for anyone. But he hadn't called for just anyone...he'd been calling for Tony. So Tony would be there. "You can go. I'll take it from here." Tony told the other man, moving to a chair and taking a seat. Steve blinked at him, glancing down at Peter whose pale, almost blue hands, lay at his sides. Limp. Peter shouldn't be limp. Shouldn't be so quiet. The kid was movement and narration and laughter. "You can go." He repeated.

"You're going to sit with him?" Steve's voice was unreadable but Tony didn't like his tone.

"Yeah."

"Who is he, Tony?" The boy stirred a little then, fingers twitching, and Tony felt the urge to put his hand on the kid's...to let him know that he wasn't alone. But he couldn't. Not with Steve watching.

"Spiderman. He's fine. I've got this. You and Sam still have your old rooms if you want to stay the night."

Steve swallowed, then took a deep breath. "You...our rooms are still…"

"Haven't gotten around to redecorating just yet. You'd better go before I get the urge to turn your room into a private sauna." Cap almost laughed at that, finally smiling. "No one saw you come here. You're free to stay as long as you want. I never wanted…" He swallowed, then shook his head. "Anyway, you should go. I'll stay with the kid. Thanks for getting him here." He stared at Peter's hands the whole time he was speaking, his own hands tight in fists in his lap.

"Okay." Steve murmured, standing, then placing a gentle hand on Peter's shoulder. Tony had to fight the urge to cut it off. Peter wasn't his kid...he had no right to feel so protective. 

But he was. He wanted to protect Peter. Needed to. Something in his chest clenched to see the kid like this and he needed the boy to wake up. To be okay. To come with him down to the lab and freak out about how amazing it was and help with the suit and just...talk. Say something. Be awake. Alive. Listen when Tony stumbled over his words and tried to tell him that he was sorry and do his best to explain why...but where would he start? With his screwed up childhood or angry father or the media who had been on him from the time he'd been an infant? What could he say? The kid had had his own rough childhood. Two dead parents before he'd started school. A dead uncle before he was fifteen. But all of those people, as far as Tony could tell, had loved him.

And Tony...he thought he might…

He liked the kid a lot.

"Tony...do you think we can talk later?"

"Sure thing, Capsicle." And then the man was gone.

The boy was still. So still that, had it not been for the hiss of the oxygen, the room would have been completely silent. Tony glanced back at the door that Steve had shut behind him and took a long, deep breath. "Kid? You...you with me?" No answer. Tony dropped his head into his hands and focused on breathing. Reminded himself that no one could hear him except maybe Peter, and that wasn't even for sure. "I'm...I'm really...uh…" He shook himself. Stark men were weak. His father had been so weak and he was weak. Why was this so hard? How could this be so impossible? Why did his throat seize up when he even though the words. "Sorry." The word was a wheeze, his eyes heating up, lips pressing close together. But then he continued. He had to. He had to be better. This kid was important, so he would be better.

"I'm sorry, Pete. I'm...shit, kid. I never meant…" He ran a hand over his face. "I'm a shitty mentor, kid. Probably the worst one you could have gotten. But...I'm going to do better. I don't know if you know this about me, but I can do just about anything I set my mind to. And I'm going to be the best fucking mentor possible... " He snorted. "I should probably stop swearing so much if I'm going to be your mentor, huh?" There was no response, but he hadn't expected one. That was okay. He could wait.

They sat in that awful silence for a long time. Tony watched the kid breathe and stared at his phone. Texted Pepper to keep her updated. Wrote and rewrote a message to Rhodey, but erased it every time. Rhodey knew only the bare minimum about Peter...only what Tony had told him. How was he supposed to explain that he felt responsible for Peter? That he was so worried...that he wanted to be closer to the kid but didn't want to hurt him? That he had no idea how to be a kid's mentor? So he kept deleting the messages, never actually sending one.

The coughing jerked Tony to attention. The kid gasped for air between thick, wet sounding coughs, his entire body shaking with them. Carefully, Tony removed the mask from his face and moved it out of the way so he could cough up the mucus in his lungs. Wrapping on arm around the kid, he slowly pulled him upright, aware that the boy's ribs were broken and not wanting to hurt him.

Holding a bowl with one hand and holding the kid up with the other, he waited for Peter to cough up the thick liquid from his lungs and hoped that his weird spider metabolism would speed up his healing. When the kid was done coughing, he eased him back down onto the bed, glancing at the kid's phone that someone had placed on the bedside table. Glancing around as if he was doing something wrong, he picked it up, then grimaced.

It was fried. Completely waterlogged.

He pulled out his own phone, selecting the person he should have contacted sooner, then pressed it to his ear, heart racing. He had no right to do this...but he didn't see another choice. It only rang twice before the woman answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Parker. This is Tony Stark."

"Oh...um...hello, Mr. Stark. Is everything okay?" She asked, sounding wary.

"Yes, of course." He told her, hating himself for lying. Hating himself for all of this. "I'm so sorry to bother you this early…" It was probably time for her to go to work. Had she worried about Peter? Or assumed that he was at his friend's house. "It's about Peter's internship. He's doing great, by the way. I've been so impressed with how well he's doing."

"Oh, that's wonderful. He was so excited about an internship with you, Mr. Stark."

Tony had to swallow hard, eyes glancing down to the boy, then moving off to the side. "Well, we're very excited to have him. I'm so sorry for the late notice, but there was actually a huge conference that suddenly came up and I asked if he wanted to go and he said yes, but I need to get your permission, of course."

"Oh...oh...I um...I thought he was with his friend…"

"He was. I gave him a call last night and he told me he was with his friend but I picked him up. He just told me that he didn't ask permission...I'm so sorry if I've worried you." Silently he apologized to the kid. He'd make it up to him.

"No, um...that's okay. I just...I tried calling him but he was at that party and…" She trailed off. "Anyway, um...can I talk to him?"

"Of course. Can I have him call you back a little later, though? He was working late last night in the lab with me to get ready for the conference and he just fell asleep a few hours ago. I shouldn't have kept him up so late but we just got wrapped up…then he dropped his phone and it shattered so I'm going to go ahead and get him a new one."

"Mr. Stark, you don't have to…"

"It's not a problem at all." He interrupted firmly. "I have plenty of spare phones lying around. You want one?" She laughed politely.

"No, thank you, Mr. Stark."

"Please, just call me Tony, Mrs. Parker."

"Um...of course. Tony, then. You can call me May." She hesitated and he heard a door slam. "Anyway, could you just have him call me when he wakes up? What time are you leaving for the conference?"

"It shouldn't be much longer now. I'll wake him soon and have him call you." He prayed that that was true...that he could get the boy coherent enough to reassure his aunt. If he couldn't, he'd have to start with more excuses. A sudden illness? Maybe...they'd cross that bridge if they came to it.

"Alright. Thank you, Tony."

"Not a problem."

He hung up the phone, taking a deep breath and staring down at the boy that didn't so much as stir. "Alright, Underoos. You've got about four hours before Aunt May starts getting suspicious."

Almost as soon as he'd spoken, the boy was coughing again, gasping for air underneath the oxygen mask Tony had placed over his nose, and the man helped him sit up once more, moving the mask, holding the bowl, and letting him spit up the gunk from his lungs. He was shivering despite the fever, and Tony patted him on the back, then rubbed circles, hand slipping behind his hospital gown onto his burning skin, giving the kid time to cough and catch his breath. The boy's eyes were still firmly shut, and Tony had to wonder how aware he was of any of this.

This time, as he eased the boy back down to the bed, the kid didn't stay still. Instead, he reached a hand out, making a noise in the back of his throat, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he reached out, catching the boy's hand in his own and squeezing. Immediately Peter relaxed, slumping down into the pillows, and Tony returned his oxygen mask to his face, rubbing his thumb over the kid's knuckles. "There you go. He muttered after a few minutes, once the boy was asleep once more.

"Msss...r…" The boy muttered under the oxygen mask, eyes moving under his eyelids, and Tony pressed his lips together, eyes dropping to the ground. "Msr...Strk….help…" He gasped, teeth clenched.

"I'm right here, kid." He assured the boy, squeezing his hand.

"Help...pl...ple…" He coughed painfully, turning his head to the side a little, and Tony got ready to help him up but the coughing stopped almost immediately. "Please…"

"I'm right here, Spiderling. I've gotcha." He promised, squeezing the smaller hand in his, and then, when that didn't work, he carefully brushed some of his hair back. "Easy, bud. I'm right here."

The kid was quiet then, other than his raspy breathing.

Peter woke two hours later, hand still resting in Tony's, and the man watched the boy blink at the ceiling, the oxygen mask fogging up over his face as he took deep breaths. Tony needed to sleep. He knew that this was going to be an issue soon, regardless of how much coffee he drank, but he needed to at least stay awake until the kid talked to his aunt. "Pete? You with me, Underoos?" Peter muttered under his breath, coughing weakly and bringing his free hand up to his chest as if to stabilize his ribs. Tony helped him sit up again, moving closer to the bed and supporting him as he coughed up more mucus.

"Ew." The kid muttered once he'd spit a glob of the stuff up, hand still pressed to his ribs, and Tony snorted as he adjusted the bed so that Peter could sit up a little more, head resting against the many pillows he'd raided from the closet. When the kid was settled, he replaced the oxygen mask, not moving his other hand. Peter didn't seem to notice that he was still holding his hand and Tony certainly wasn't about to say anything. The boy took a couple of deep breaths, eyes fluttering shut, and then he opened them again, glancing over at Tony, then blinking in surprise as if he hadn't seen the man. "Mr. Stark?" He asked, confused.

"Hey, Pete. How are you feeling?" The boy stared at him, apparently sluggish mind trying to figure out what was going on.

"Fine." The kid finally told him. Tony rolled his eyes. The boy was on oxygen in the medbay and had a fever of 102. 

"I'm going to keep asking until you tell the truth." Peter sighed, apparently too tired to keep up appearances, which Tony was grateful for.

"Uh...like someone's standing on my chest." He admitted. Tony nodded.

"Sounds about right. You've got pneumonia."

"What?"

"Pneumonia," Tony repeated, just a little louder, wondering if Peter hadn't heard him or just didn't understand. "Infection in your lungs." Peter narrowed his eyes, seeming like he was trying to remember, then turned to Tony, mouth dropping open.

"Mr. Stark! The Vulture…"

"I know." Tony held up a hand, not wanting the boy to tire himself out. "I've got people looking into him, don't worry."

"He's got alien technology and…"

"I know, Pete," Tony assured him. "I know. I called the FBI. They're looking into him." Peter's huge eyes were on Tony's, and he stared right back, hoping Peter could see that he was taking this seriously. "You did good, kid. Caught the guy…figured out who was behind this. Don't worry...I'm going to do the rest, okay? Or...well, the FBI." Peter took a weak, wet sounding breath, then nodded, leaning his head back, shoulders slumping as he seemed to go limp. "Kid?"

"Yeah?" He asked, eyes already shutting.

"You can go back to sleep if you want, but can you talk to your aunt first?" His eyes flew open once again, and it would have been funny had Tony not been too worried about the coughing.

"Aunt May...she must be so worried….I…" He broke off then, coughing and gasping for air, and Tony hurried to help him sit up, an arm around his back. "She…" Tony squeezed the hand that he was still holding, and Peter squeezed back.

"Easy, bud. Just breathe, okay? Don't worry about anything. May is fine. Just breathe." Peter nodded a little, and when he was finally done coughing, his head dropped onto Tony's shoulder. The man didn't protest...just held Peter for a minute, letting him catch his breath. It could be a hug if Peter wanted. They were there. "Alright, kiddo. Better?" He nodded. "I talked to May. Told her I had you up late working for me, and that we're going to an internship conference. That should give us at least today and most of tomorrow for you to get better. If you're still sick, I can tell you got the flu or something while you were there. Don't worry about it." He rubbed a firm hand up and down the kid's back. Peter nodded again, head heavy on Tony's shoulder.

It was the best kind of heavy….the best kind of weight, and he squeezed the kid.

No. He hugged the kid. "If I call your aunt, do you think you could talk to her for a minute? Just tell her about the internship?" He hesitated. "Or, if you'd rather, we can just tell her the truth." Peter shook his head. "Internship conference it is."

Tony dialed the phone, placing it in Peter's hand, and the kid pulled the oxygen mask off. "Hello? Tony?" May answered after a moment.

"Hey, May. It's me." Peter sounded kind of rough, but not too bad. The kid was an okay actor for someone with a fever. Tony couldn't hear May, but he watched Peter's eyes drift shut as he struggled to stay awake. "Yeah...yeah, just tired. We were up late." The kid's mouth twitched upwards into a reluctant smile. "I know. I'll tell him." Another pause as May spoke. "Yeah, it's a big internship conference...don't really know all the details yet...yeah, I'll call you when I get back." He clenched his jaw, then coughed with his head turned. "Okay. Love you, May."

Before the kid could drop the phone from his shaking hand, Tony caught it and placed it on the nightstand. "Mr. Stark? I…" The kid's eyes started to close again, and Tony cut him off.

"We'll talk later, Underoos. I need to sleep, you need to sleep...let's sleep."

"Are you sure? I can…" Peter coughed again, a hand on his chest, and Tony patted his shoulder.

"Yeah, bud. I'm sure." Peter nodded, gaze shooting around the room, then to Tony who couldn't help but read the worry there. Reaching over before he could think about what he was doing, he ruffled Peter's hair. "Get some rest, Pete. I'll be right over here." And, not letting himself think about the comfortable bed waiting for him a few floors up, he collapsed on the couch, curling up on his side.

"Mr. Stark...you don't have to…"

Tony smiled a little at the relief in Peter's voice. "Hush, kid. I'm sleeping." He told him, voice gentle. "Fri, lights."

They lay in the dark for only a few seconds before Peter spoke once more. "Thank you, Mr. Stark." He all but whispered.

"Sleep, Spiderling."

And, almost immediately, Peter did.


	4. Talking Through the Pain

Talking Through the Pain

Breathing hurt.

That was the first thing that Peter was really, fully aware of next. It burned his chest…every breath, every movement. It all hurt. He took a shaky breath in, eyes closed as he rested in a comfortable bed, fingers clenching the sheets as he exhaled. It burned. And ached. That breath led to a cough, and he gasped in pain when he tried to sit up, eyes opening in surprise when a hand slipped behind his back, lifting him and stabilizing him against a warm, solid body in the dark.

“Easy, Underoos.” The voice told him. A familiar voice. Peter coughed again, gasping for air between painful hacking, and the hands kept him upright, holding something under his mouth so that when he started coughing up some kind of gunk, it landed in the bowl. Finally, he was done, and the person put the bowl…somewhere. He didn’t see. But then the man was sitting behind him, letting him lean against them. Peter pressed a hand to his chest and the man squeezed his shoulder before rubbing his arm. “Just breathe. It’s okay.”

“Hurts.” He choked out behind the oxygen mask.

“I know, kid. You’ve got pneumonia.” That sounded about right…pneumonia. Because…the river. He’d fallen into the river because the Vulture…he started to turn back to the man helping him sit up. “Easy, Peter.” The man ordered. Mr. Stark. The man kept rubbing his shoulder and Peter closed his eyes again, resting his head back on Mr. Stark’s chest, too sore and tired to be embarrassed. He wasn’t sure how long he lay against the man, but Mr. Stark didn’t complain. Only held him. But then he was shaking him gently.

“Pete? Kid, wake up.” Had he fallen asleep again? Someone else was in the room. He could hear her footsteps…and her heartbeat. It was a woman. The dim lights, which were slowly getting brighter, revealed a tall woman with her long black hair pulled into a ponytail. He didn’t recognize her, but she was smiling at him as Mr. Stark stood, the man easing him back down to the pillows. “Pete, this is Helen Cho. She’s kind of our personal doctor.”

The woman rolled her eyes, but she didn’t really seem upset. “Hello, Peter.” She greeted, glancing at a monitor beside him, then pulling out a stethoscope. “I just wanted to listen to your lungs and check your breathing.” Mr. Stark took a few steps back, giving her room to work, and Peter had to fight the urge to reach out to him. To grab his hand. He remembered that Mr. Stark had held his hand…had helped him sit up and rubbed his back. But that had been when he’d been really sick. Now he was probably fine…at least, mostly fine. So Mr. Stark would go back to how they’d been before…it kind of surprised Peter that the man was still there.

He hadn’t been there before. At the river.

Then Helen Cho was pressing a disk to his chest, instructing him to breathe as deeply as he could. He did his best, fingers clenching into fists as he did his best not to rip the sheets. He wanted to go home. Wanted May…but hadn’t he told her that he was going to a…conference? Maybe? Something like that. He’d lied to her so that she wouldn’t find out who he was. It was a conversation he barely remembered. He also sort of remembered a conversation with Mr. Stark, but it was all blurry. Memories of pain and coughing and..talking to May. That was it.

“It looks like your healing is working in your favor. You need to stay on the oxygen but I think we can switch you to a nasal cannula. You still have a fever, but the antibiotics are working…your fever should break soon.” He nodded, accepting what she was saying but not sure how to respond. Or even if he needed to. He was surprised that Mr. Stark was still in the room, listening closely to Dr. Cho and peering at the charts she was holding. Once she was done listening to his chest and looking at his charts, she hooked him up to a nasal cannula, then messed with one of the wires attached to the needle in the crook of his arm. There was another one inserted into the back of his wrist, but she didn’t touch that one. “The wounds in your shoulders have nearly healed. You might be sore for a day or two, though, so I have you on pain medicine.”

“Thanks.” He muttered. With that, she headed out, and Peter was left with Mr. Stark who was leaning against a wall, not quite meeting his eyes. Peter decided to let him off the hook. “Uh…Mr. Stark?” The man looked up at him and Peter took a deep breath of the oxygen coming from the cannula, doing his best not to cough. “Thanks for, uh…for, you know. Getting me out of the river. I thought…” He didn’t meet the man’s eyes, cutting himself off. No need to talk about what he’d thought. No need to admit to Mr. Stark, to Iron Man, that he’d been sure that he was going to die. “Uh…anyway, thanks. You don’t have to stay.” He finally glanced up and found the man staring at him, jaw tight. “I mean…I really appreciate you staying with me but I know you’re busy.”

Mr. Stark seemed to take a deep breath, clasping his hands together in front of him before taking a seat beside Peter’s bed once more. His shoulders were slumped, his whole body curled in on itself. Peter knew that the man was in his forties, but suddenly he looked…old. “I’m not busy, Pete.”

“Oh…” He blinked a few times at the man, then glanced at the door. “Okay.”

“How do you feel?” He asked then, and Peter wondered what exactly was going on. Not that Mr. Stark has been mean to him or anything. Just…distant. Now, he was sitting at his side in a hospital bed.

“Uh…better. I can probably go home.”

“You’re here for the weekend, kid. Your aunt thinks you’re at an internship conference. Besides, we need to fix your suit.” He frowned at that, following the man’s gaze to the plastic bag in the corner that held his suit.

“Oh…”. He whispered, heart sinking.

“Yeah. Apparently, Spangles didn’t realize that you could deflate the thing. Not that I’m complaining. It’ll be fine…won’t take more than a day or two to make a new one.” Peter just nodded. “Once you’re cleared to get out of that bed, you wanna give me a hand?”

Peter’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard, flinching when a sharp intake of air had his chest burning. “Seriously?” He asked, forgetting himself for a moment. The man smiled, his whole face softening a little.

“Yeah, kid. Seriously. I’ll show you how I made the first one. Introduce you to your AI too.” Peter stared at him, feeling his jaw drop.

“My…AI?”

The man chuckled. “Yeah.” He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. Still, he looked tired despite the smirk. “Custom made, programmed for your suit. I didn’t give you access to everything in the suit just yet…was going to wait until you’d done some more training.” He shrugged. “But I think you’ll like your AI.” Peter had no idea what to say to that. No idea how to respond. But the man kept talking so he didn’t need to. “I need to say something, kid.” He told Peter in a rush. “If you’re feeling up for a talk.”

A cold feeling of dread curled up in his stomach, making him feel sick. Mr. Stark was probably angry…he’d made the man come home from…well…wherever he’d been and Steve Rogers was somehow involved and…he’d screwed everything up. “Okay.” He whispered, eyes dropping to his lap. The man paused and Peter glanced up from underneath his eyelashes.

Mr. Stark didn’t just look tired. He looked sad. There were bags under his eyes, and he was tense, hand clenched in his lap. He was looking at Peter…staring at him, like just the sight of Peter was hurting him. “I’m…I’m sorry, kid.” He almost choked on the words, but before Peter could interrupt, the man went on. “I should have been a better mentor. I was the one that dragged you into this and then…anyway, I’m going to be around more, okay?”

Peter wasn’t prepared for this. Wasn’t prepared to forgive something he hadn’t really held against the man. “Yeah, sure. You don’t have to be sorry. I know you’re busy…”

“You’re important to me, kid. I’m should have made more time for the things that are important to me. And from now on, I will.” He smiled a bit when Peter didn’t respond. “How are you feeling kid? Really?”

“Um…still hurts to breathe,” Peter admitted.

“Think you could eat?” He nodded. He was starving, although he wasn’t sure if eating would hurt too. “Fri, have someone bring up two trays.” Peter found himself picking at his blanket and wondering if the needle in his arm was pumping him full of something that made him sleepy or if it was just his healing.

“What time is it?” He wondered. Mr. Stark checked his watch.

“3:15. You slept through lunch.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he should ask…if he should bring up one of the many elephants in the room. But he was dying to know and everything was just so confusing. “Mr. Stark?” The man lifted his eyebrows, face open and tired. “Did…um…so, Captain America really saved me?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes dropped, jaw tightening as he seemed to take a moment to gather himself. “Yeah. I was in Mumbai for a meeting when I got the notification from your suit…and Capsicle was the closest.”

“Is he still here?”

“Yeah. I set him and the bird one up in their old rooms. No one saw them come here so they’re going to stay for a few days.”

“Hawkeye is here!” Peter cried, then clinched at the coughing fit that caused. Mr. Stark leaned forward, putting a hand behind his back to help him sit up, covering the worry on his face with a lifted eyebrow.

“The other bird one.” He corrected, helping Peter slouch back against the pillows.

“Falcon?”

Mr. Stark smirked. “I call him ‘Sam’ but yeah. What’s with that reaction? You a Hawkeye fan?”

Peter shrugged. “Hawkeye’s cool.” He told him, feeling his ears heat up. Mr. Stark just rolled his eyes a little with a chuckle. Peter would have been a lot more excited about the fact that he’d made Tony Stark laugh had it not felt like his lungs were about to catch fire.

“I guess.” The smile dropped when Peter’s eyes did, another cough tearing out of his throat. Pressing his hand to his chest, he gasped for air, head pounding, and Mr. Stark moved forward, a hand on his shoulder. “Pete?”

“I’m fine.” He gasped, teeth pressing together in a pained grimace he couldn’t hide. The pain radiated through his lungs and back, and he just wanted to go back to sleep, but his stomach was growling relentlessly. He hadn’t eaten in too long, and if he didn’t eat, he didn’t heal.

“Yeah, I can tell. Helen has you on antibiotics, so you should start to feel better soon. Ah. Here we go. Thank you.” Peter glanced up and found a nurse holding two trays.

“Is that all, Mr. Stark?”

“You want anything else, Pete?” He shook his head and Mr. Stark nodded to the man who left them with their trays of what turned out to be baked chicken with baked potatoes and green beans which Peter picked at, eyes still heavy.

Before he could drop the tray, Mr. Stark was easing it out of his hands and placing it on the table beside him. “Did you eat enough, kiddo?” He nodded, even though he was still starving, but he could barely get his eyes to open. Then something was pressed to his mouth, and he opened his eyes to find a straw and a cup full of a thick drink that smelled like chocolate.

“Is that a milkshake?”

“Something like that.” The man assured him, voice soft, and he brought up a shaky hand to try and hold it. “Just drink, Peter. Then you can go back to sleep.”

Sleep sounded amazing, so he did as Mr. Stark asked, drinking the milkshake that tasted kind of strange. Still, he drank most of it, dropping his head back down to the pillows and letting himself drift off, deciding that the meds coming through his IV must have been making him sleepy after all.

The next time he woke, it was to voices on the other side of the room. It felt like more time had passed…a lot more time. The lights were dim but he could hear Mr. Stark talking to someone, the man’s soft voice making it hard to make out all the words. But then someone else was speaking and he shifted a little on the bed, glad that the burning in his lungs had mostly stopped. He took an experimental deep breath, then another. It felt almost like when he’d had asthma as a kid. Not like an asthma attack…just a little painful, enough to make him mindful of his own breathing.

“He looks better.” That voice was…Captain America, he realized, blinking at the ceiling. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was in his hospital room. And so was Tony Stark. Right…his life was weird.

“Yeah…the antibiotics are working. He just needs to take it easy for a few days.”

Peter started to sit up a little, and this time, it didn’t hurt so much. He ran a hand through his hair, yawning a little. He wasn’t so tired anymore…in fact, he felt like he might be able to get out of bed. “Hey, Queens.” He turned and found that both men were looking at him, Mr. Stark moving closer and checking the monitor beside his bed.

“How are you feeling, kid?”

“Better.” He glanced past him to Steve Rogers who was watching from the other side of the room. Mr. Stark adjusted something on the side of the bed and the bed moved to an upright position, and he shifted against the pillows. “When can I get up?”

“As soon as Helen gives you the all clear.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten. You’ve been asleep for a while…Helen says that’s how your healing works. But you need to eat something soon.”

Peter felt like he was stuck in a strange dream. Tony Stark had been hanging out with him for the last…day? He’d apologized for not being around as much and for not being a good mentor and…Captain America had saved him from drowning and…the Vulture. He needed to tell Mr. Stark more about the Vulture. And the other guys he’d seen. But at the moment, both Captain America and Iron Man were in his room at the medbay of the Avengers compound. Mr. Stark followed his gaze, glancing back at Steve Rogers, then stepped to the side. “Kid, this is Steve Rogers. I know you’ve already met, but…well, this time there’s no fighting going on. Cap, this is Spiderman.”

The man moved forward, holding out a hand that Peter took. “It’s good to officially meet you, son.”

“You too.”

“I’ll let you get some more rest. I’m glad to see you looking better.”

“Thank you.” He murmured, not sure what else he should say.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Oh are…are you staying?” He immediately realized how that sounded and could have kicked himself. “Not that you shouldn’t. I was just wondering…um…obviously you used to live here. And with the Accords…not that I really know anything about it…um, you and Falcon…um, Mr. Stark told me that he was here too, but I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I just…”

“Okay. That’ll do, kid.” Mr. Stark told him with a smirk and an eye roll. But the gentle hand on his shoulder took the sting out of his words, fingers squeezing his arm, careful of the old wounds there that had apparently already healed. “He’ll go on for hours if you don’t stop him.”

“I do not,” Peter muttered, cheeks hot, and the man grinned down at him. He couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Rogers was smiling too, eyes almost soft.

“I am staying for a little while.” Mr. Rogers informed him. “I’ll stop by when you’re feeling better.” The man turned, nodding to him once more before leaving the room, and with that, Peter was alone with Mr. Stark once more.

“You okay, kid?”

“Does he know who I am?” Peter asked. The man shook his head.

“No. Well…he knows you’re Spiderman, but he doesn’t know your name.” Peter nodded. “But if you want to tell him, that’s up to you. He’s not going to tell anyone.” Peter wanted to ask if he trusted Steve Rogers. If the Avengers were going to get back together or if this was a temporary thing. He wanted to know what exactly Mr. Stark had meant by saying that he was going to make more time for him. Would his internship become a real thing? Or would he just answer his phone? At the moment, though, all he could focus on was the tray that another nurse delivered, on top of which was a pizza box.

“Your pizza, Mr. Stark?” Peter had to smile a bit at that as his mentor took the tray.

“You ordered pizza?”

“I ordered several pizzas.” Mr. Stark corrected, placing the tray on the table by Peter’s bed. “Eat up, kiddo. The more you eat, the faster you heal…or something like that. I’ll have to have Helen go over the specifics again.” Smirking, Peter grabbed a slice, unable to help the hope that was building in his chest.

Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Stark had meant what he’d said. Maybe he was going to have an actual almost-friendship with the Tony Stark.

Maybe.


	5. Coherent Conversations

Coherent Conversations

Once the pizza was gone, most of it eaten by Peter, although Mr. Stark had had a slice or two, the man carried the two pizza boxes over to the trash can in the corner and placed them on top since they weren’t going to fit inside. The clock by Peter’s bed told him it was getting close to eleven. Eleven pm. He’d been asleep on and off all day. Wondering if May was worried and where his phone was, he took a long drink from the glass of water by his bedside. It wasn’t cold, but it was liquid so it would do.

“Here.” Mr. Stark took the almost-empty glass from him and took it over to the counter where a pitcher of ice water sat, pouring him more. Like a waiter. Peter was in a hospital bed with Tony Stark who had bought him pizza and was bringing him water and Peter felt the insane urge to laugh. Or tip him. 

“Oh. Thanks, Mr. Stark. You didn’t...um...you don’t have to…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” The man waved him off, grabbing himself a glass and filling it before practically draining it. Despite sleeping most of the day, Peter was still tired. Not necessarily sleepy...just tired. Like his whole body was heavy. After putting his own glass down, Mr. Stark took a seat beside him in the familiar chair, hands clasped. “How are you feeling, kid?”

“I’m fine. If you need to go…”

The man shook his head. “I don’t need to go anywhere, Pete. That’s a perk of being the boss.”

“I thought Pepper was the boss.” The line was out before he realized what he’d said, but instead of getting mad, Mr. Stark snorted.

“You got that right, kid. And don’t you forget it.” Peter let himself smile then. “Friday? How’s he looking?”

“It appears as if the antibiotics are working, as is the pain medication.” Mr. Stark nodded. 

“Good. Make sure it stays that way.” Then he was leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. “Alright. Not that you’re feeling better, think you can tell me what happened?” The man didn’t look angry or anything. Just serious. Maybe Peter hadn’t screwed this up yet. Maybe he still had a chance.

“Oh. Okay. Um...so I was at this party and I was outside on the roof…”. He cut himself off at Mr. Stark’s raised eyebrow. “For, like, totally normal reasons.”

“Yeah okay. We’ll come back to that.” The man waved his hand in a circle, motioning for Peter to go on. 

“Anyway, I saw this weird glow and...it was like an explosion or something. So I headed over…”

“Wait, were you wearing your suit? On the roof?”

Peter pressed his lips together, then nodded. “Yeah.” The man blinked but motioned for him to go on once more. “So when I got there, there were these guys with these weird weapons and I stopped them from killing this guy then I was chasing them through the streets and I almost had them when this...guy…he was in a huge wingsuit with, like, talons and stuff. He grabbed me and then he was flying really high. He had a mask on so I couldn’t see his face. He dropped me over the river and my parachute deployed but I think I got tangled in it, so...I was in the water and I...I couldn’t get out.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked a little, eyes dropping in embarrassment.

Mr. Stark must have noticed but he didn’t say anything. “I did some digging. This guy calls himself the Vulture. He’s an arms dealer, mostly alien tech. They must have gotten it from the battle of New York.” He ran a tired hand over his face, shaking his head. “We tried to clean all of it but...some of it got out. Now those weapons are on the street.”

“The guys who were robbing that bank a few days ago had the same kinds of weapons.” The man nodded. 

“Yeah. I’ve contacted the FBI. They’re watching these guys...but there wasn’t any footage of the deal. They picked a good location.” Then he blinked, smiling a little. “But you saw their faces, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, I didn’t recognize them but I can describe them.” The man grinned outright then.

“I’ll do you one better. Your suit records everything you see.” Peter felt his eyes go wide.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. We’ll take a look in the morning. Hopefully you can be out here by then and we can take a look at your suit footage.” That reminded him of something he’d been wondering. 

“Oh...um...Mr. Stark?” The man lifted he eyebrows in invitation. “Do you know where my phone is?” He gave Peter a grim look then, grabbing something from his pocket. He took a closer look, then sighed, shoulders dropping. “Damn it.” It was completely destroyed...waterlogged. He wondered briefly if he could waterproof a pocket for the suit. 

“Sorry, Underoos. I’ll get you a new one. I’ve got plenty laying around, don’t worry. I’ll make sure to grab you one tomorrow. And I’ll see what I can do with this one.” The man looked around the room, then, pocketing the phone once again. “You need anything else?”

“I’m good. Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Sure thing, Pete. I’m going to let you get some sleep. Just ask Friday if you need anything.” The man stood, a hand hovering for a second before landing gently on his shoulder. “See you in the morning, kid.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” The man threw him a tired looking smile as he stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Night, Peter.” 

Surprisingly, Peter didn’t have any difficulty falling asleep. After the lights were out, he closed his eyes, head resting on the very comfortable pillow, and the next thing he knew, there were voices in the room with him. “He’s doing much better. The infection is nearly cleared up, but I would suggest taking it easy for another day or two, and making sure to take deep breaths. His ribs are healing but will still be sore. And the wounds on his shoulders seemed to be healed.”

“Good.” The other person sighed, their voice soft. “So he’s okay to be out of bed?”

“That should be fine. But he’ll need to take it easy for a few days.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” The man promised. Who, Peter wondered. Who was keeping an eye on him? And then it clicked as his brain continued to wake up. Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark was going to keep an eye on him. Groaning, he brought a clumsy hand up to wipe over his eyes, stretching and yawning, then flinching when his ribs protested. 

“Good morning, Peter.” The woman he recognized as Doctor Helen Cho greeted. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m good. Thanks, Doctor Cho.” 

“You certainly look better.” She pulled out a stethoscope and had him sit up, listen to his breathing for a minute before nodding to herself. “And you sound better. I was just telling Tony that you should be fine to get out of bed today.” He sighed in relief, smiling.

“Really? 

“Really.” She brushed a hand over his shoulder, giving him a kind smile. “Just take it easy. Rest if you need to. Make sure you take plenty of deep breaths. And no exertion for a few days.” 

“That means no Spidermanning for a few days, Underoos.” Mr. Stark put in, handing him a glass of water that Peter drained. “How about some breakfast?” Peter agreed readily, and within the hour he was dressed in real clothes, provided by Mr. Stark from...somewhere, and in the kitchen, eating waffles that the man had made him. From scratch. Like, actual ingredients that he’d pulled out of a cabinet and poured into a bowl and stirred and poured into a waffle iron that produced waffled in the shape of the Iron Man mask.

Iron Man had just made him Iron Man waffles. Peter stared down at them for a few seconds before digging in, too hungry to try and process all of this. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He mumbled around a mouth full of breakfast. Across from him at the table, Mr. Stark was eating his own waffles, also drowned in syrup and butter, a bowl of strawberries and blueberries between them that the man pulled a piece of fruit from every few bites, then pushed the bowl over to Peter. 

“Don’t mention it kid. Here.” He paused, then frowned up at Peter. “You’re not allergic to strawberries, are you?” Mr. Stark gestured toward the hallway. “Pep’s allergic, so I was just checking.” Wondering if Miss Potts was somewhere down the hallway, Peter shook his head.

“Oh. No. I’m not really allergic to anything. Except bees. Well, I used to be allergic to bees. And peanuts. But not like, where my throat closes up and I can’t breathe. More like, I get hives. And my mouth goes kind of numb. But….uh, anyway, I don’t think I am anymore because I was wondering if I still had the same allergies after the bite and so I ate a reese's cup and it was really really good and I didn’t feel sick or get hives or anything so I don’t think I’m...allergic to anything. Anymore.” He trailed off, risking a glance at the man who was staring down at his own waffles with a soft smile. 

“Good to know, Pete.” He pushed the bowl over again and Peter grabbed a strawberry, throwing it in his mouth and then taking a bite of waffles. 

Once they finished their breakfast, Mr. Stark led him down to the lab where Peter froze in the doorway, eyes huge as he turned in slow circles, trying to take in everything. Mr. Stark just chuckled, dropping into a rolling chair and spinning to face him. “What do you think, Pete? Think you could get some work done in here?”

The lab was...amazing. Everything he’d ever dreamed. There were cabinets full of chemicals and spare parts. A robot in the corner lifted it’s claw as if it was waving at him. Screens filled the room, as did various pieces of machinery and inventions that could have only been Mr. Stark’s. “Mr. Stark...this is...this is the coolest...place...ever.” Mr. Stark chuckled, jumping up and from his chair and moving over to Peter’s side where he slung an arm around him, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Have you met Dum-E? Dum-E, meet Peter. Pete…” He gestured to the robot who bobbed it’s claw up and down, and Peter half-ran over to the little robot. 

“This is so cool! Hi, Dum-E! You’re the coolest robot ever!” He cried, running his hand up and down the robot’s long arm. Dum-E made a happy whirring noise, claw patting Peter on the shoulder and making him laugh. Across the room, Mr. Stark chuckled, and Peter glanced up to find him standing, arms crossed, eyes soft, a strange, but happy look on his face. “Is he the robot you build when you were a kid?” Mr. Stark nodded. “This is amazing! Look at you!” He cried, facing Dum-E again. 

Suddenly something was tapping him on the shoulder and he jumped, gasping when he saw another robot which caused him to have to fight back a cough. “And that’s U. He gets jealous.” Mr. Stark told him, and Peter felt like his face might split in two. 

“HI, there.” He petted U’s claw and the thing made a similar noise.

“I think they like you.”

“I like them too,” Peter told the robots, then couldn’t fight the cough anymore. He pressed a hand to his mouth, smiling behind his hand when U patted him gently but clumsily on the back, forcing him forward a step. 

“Kid? Come here.” Mr. Stark called, moving over to his side and wrapping the arm back around his shoulder. Leading him over to one of the desks, he pushed Peter down into his own rolling chair. “Sit for a second. Here.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge and pressed it into Peter’s hand. Peter took a long drink, thanking the man and smiling when he was, once more, waved off. “Alright. I grabbed your suit, and I plugged it in here…” He waited for Peter to catch his breath and then the TV monitor came on. 

“So, the suit records everything I do?”

“You got it. Well, everything you do in the suit.” He gestured to the TV and Peter felt his stomach drop suddenly. 

“Do, uh...do you watch it?” Mr. Stark lifted an eyebrow.

“No...it was for emergencies only...like now. Why?” 

“Oh...no reason.”

Twenty seconds later, an image of Peter in the mask and a t-shirt, holding a hammer and doing a bad impression of Thor filled the screen. Mr. Stark, shockingly, didn’t laugh outright. But the man couldn’t hide the smile, and Peter crossed his arms, huffing. “Can we, like, skip this?” He asked, ears hot, and Mr. Stark finally let out the chuckle. 

“Friday, love, be a dear and skip to the night the Spiderling almost drowned.” 

“Yes, boss.”

“Couldn’t you have done that in the first place?” Peter grumbled, not able to help the smile when Mr. Stark laughed out loud. But then the footage on the TV showed the scene that Peter remembered all too well. The alien weapons. The bad guys that Peter had tried so hard to chase down. The other bad guy who was less of a bad guy because he’d just wanted normal guns...Peter’s life was getting really weird.

“Hey! If you want to shoot at somebody, shoot at me!” Peter heard himself say, and beside him, Mr. Stark stiffened, lips pressed in a tight line. For a moment, the man was silent as the scene unfolded. Then he lifted a hand and the screen froze. 

“Go back, Fri. There.” The scene began to move backward, pausing when Mr. Stark ordered it to, focusing on the man Peter had saved. “Him. Who is that?”

“Aaron Davis,” Friday informed him, bringing up Aaron Davis’s public records on the screen.

“So...are we going to talk to him? Figure out where to find that Vulture guy?” Mr. Stark gave him a look.

“We aren’t going to talk to him. I am.” Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Stark held up a hand. “Pete, until Helen clears you to be Spiderman again, you’re benched. I mean it, kid. Pneumonia and broken ribs are nothing to mess around with. I’ll handle this. Okay? I had someone grab one of the weapons left behind and I’m going to figure out what they’re up to. Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got this one.” 

Peter sighed, slumping back in his chair and nodding. “Kid?” He glanced up, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face. “Look…” The man ran a hand over his face. “I know you’re capable. And when you’re cleared to get back in the suit, you can help. Okay?” Peter blinked in surprise, dropping his arms.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, kid. I told you. Mentoring. I’m going to try and be better at it.” He smiled a little then, more than a little relieved. Mr. Stark still wanted his help. He still wanted him on the team. 

“Does that mean I’m an Avenger?” He asked, tone sly and mostly teasing. Mr. Stark chuckled, reaching out and ruffling his hair.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet, kid.”


	6. The Team That Could Have Been

The Team That Could Have Been

Tony glanced up at the boy across from him, watching the kid's hand fly across the page as he worked on the plans for his webshooters. Tony had shown him all of the web combinations, and the kid was trying to slim down the design for the actual webshooters, hoping to make them discreet enough to carry around. In the corner, Dum-E watched, claw pointed at Peter, and Tony felt his heart clench a little, a reluctant smile turning the corners of his mouth.

Dum-E loved the kid...had loved him at first sight. Seeing the teenager wrap his arms around the robot's arm...seeing the robot embrace the boy...it had reminded him so much of himself as a lonely teenager. He'd watched the kid marvel over his lab, and then his bots, and had remembered the reason he'd built Dum-E in the first place. The robot had been one of his first friends. Had been the perfect size to not only help him around the lab but also to wrap his claw around him, pulling him close like he'd always hoped his father would.

Peter had been delighted. He'd loved Tony's bots. And to see the boy in his lab, alive, breathing on his own...not sick...not dying...it made his chest unclench. He hadn't even realized that it had been clenched, a knot in his stomach. The boy had been distracted by his lab for a long time, but he'd finally managed to settle down, possibly because of the coughing that the kid couldn't quite stifle. He'd grabbed him a bottle of water and pushed him to sit down, and then they'd gotten to work.

Tony had known that the kid was smart. He'd known from the minute he'd recruited him that Peter knew his stuff. The kid had developed his own web formula in a high school chemistry lab with borrowed (stolen) chemicals. Tony couldn't imagine what the kid could do with unlimited resources. He just didn't have access to the kind of technology that Tony did. But now that he did, the kid had taken off. In front of him were five pages of notes, and the kid showed no signs of stopping. Tony smiled a bit at the boy, tablet in hand as he worked on the suit itself.

It seemed like Peter was happy with the actual design of the suit, although Tony hadn't asked him for any input. The material itself was strong and durable, but not bulletproof. In order to do bulletproof, Tony would need to work with something a little more heavy duty, and he worried that that would compromise his range of motion. He also needed to figure out how thick the material at his hands and feet could be and still allow Peter to stick to things when he was crawling around the city and up the various buildings. He hadn't really studied Peter's powers...but now that he thought about it, he might want to. He also might want to take some blood and see if normal painkillers worked on him.

"Hey, kid?" The boy glanced up, hand pausing in mid air, pencil poised over the paper. Over one shoulder, Dum-E was seemingly watching him, claw turning this way and that as he studied the kid. "Have you taken pain medication since getting bitten by that freaky spider?" He wondered.

Peter narrowed his eyes but nodded. "Uh, yeah...when I first got bit, I was really sick for a day or two, but the over the counter stuff barely worked. Excedrin doesn't work for migraines anymore, and once I got hit kind of hard on patrol...ibuprofen doesn't really do much for me either." The man crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"Fri, we still have Cap's pain pills around here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. I'd like to check to see if they would work on you, but I need to draw some blood." Peter went still, and Dum-E whined softly behind him. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing." He started to reassure the boy. "I have multiple PhDs and also took multiple first-aid courses. But if you'd rather have a regular doctor do it we can go back to the Medbay…"

"No...it's not that...um…"

And then Tony realized that the kid must be afraid of needles. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't exactly asked the boy's permission. He softened then, rolling a little closer in his chair and mentally celebrating when Peter's lips twitched. "Let me rephrase that. I'd like to draw some blood if that's okay with you. I just want to make sure we have medicine on hand that can help you if we ever need it. But I'm not going to tie you down and force you or anything. It's up to you, Pete."

The boy swallowed, looking up hesitantly at Tony. "Um...okay." The kid didn't want to have blood drawn. And had the kid not just nearly drowned not that long ago, Tony might not have gone ahead and done it anyway. But he had, and he knew that the pain medicine they'd used hadn't been as effective on Peter as it would have been on a non-enhanced person. So he led Peter over to one of the tables, pulling out a First Aid kid with a sterile needle and a vial for the blood. It also wouldn't hurt to know his blood type...have some blood on hand just in case he needed it.

Tony hated that thought. Hated the idea that they'd ever need blood for the kid. But in their line of work...well, he couldn't be too careful. The kid stretched his arm out on the table, all traces of the joy and wonder that had been there just moments before gone. Wiping a spot on the inside of his arm with a sterile towelette, Tony glanced up at Peter. "Did I tell you about your AI?"

"Um...you told me that you made one for me." Peter muttered, flinching as Tony inserted the needle. But the boy's eyes sought Tony's and he easily connected the tube to the vial, then met Peter's eyes, glad to distract him.

"She's great. I had her and a lot of other features locked away...didn't want to overwhelm you with stuff too quickly. Plus, I mean...I didn't know you, so for all I knew you'd turn evil and then you'd have a badass AI helping you." Peter's lips twitched and he snorted a little.

"What's her name?"

"Hell if I know, kid. She's your AI." The boy blinked, mouth dropping open.

"She...you didn't name her?" Tony smiled.

"No. She's your's, kid. I mean, she'll report to me in certain circumstances, but her loyalty is all to you." Peter's eyes dropped, but not to the needle in his arm. Instead, they went to the floor, lips pressed tightly together, and Tony wanted to reach out and touch his arm...maybe put his hand on the kid's. Try to reassure him. To tell him that this was real and Tony was serious and he didn't have to be so hesitant.

But words weren't going to prove that.

"Anyway, we're all done here." He slipped the needle out of the kid's arm, grinning at Peter's surprised expression. "I'm pretty good at that, huh?" Peter smiled.

"Yeah. But you're good at everything." Those words nearly undid him. Peter wasn't being sarcastic. He was smiling up at Tony like he could do anything, his expression heartbreakingly earnest. And Tony wanted to be worthy of it.

"Well, you've never seen me try to bake," Tony told him with a chuckle, grabbing an Iron Man band-aid and pressing it over the tiny puncture wound in his arm. "And you never will. Because I don't hate you." Peter laughed.

"It can't be worse than May's cooking."

"Oh no, my cooking is phenomenal. You haven't lived until you've tried my spaghetti." The kid smiled, hopping up from his stool and following Tony over to the workstation once more. Tony placed the blood in a cooler, sealing it and making sure no one else would be able to access it. He and Dr. Cho would take a look later. "But give me a brownie recipe and an oven and I'll burn this place to the ground in ten minutes flat." Peter laughed, and something in Tony's chest loosened, warmth spreading through his chest. "Speaking of cooking, how about we take a break and get something to eat?"

"Um...you don't have to…" Peter started, but Tony waved a hand, watching the screens disappear.

"Come on, Pete. We'll eat, and then we'll take a look at your AI." The boy followed him to the elevator, and Tony caught him casting a backward glance at the lab, eyes longing, and he reached out, patting him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. The lab will still be here after we eat."

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, voice just a little whiny, and Tony chuckled.

"Certain." The elevator took them up to the main floor where the kitchen was, and Peter came to an abrupt halt beside him when they rounded the corner to find Steve standing at the stove, Sam leaning on the island behind him. Both men looked up, and Tony had to fight the urge to wrap a protective arm around Peter's shoulders. As if the kid needed protection from the guys making what smelled like chili in his kitchen.

As if he was the kid's father or something. He wasn't Peter's father. He was the kid's mentor. That was it. And he'd been a sucky one, so now he was going to do better. But Peter could handle himself and the kid probably didn't want comfort from him anyway. "Tony." Steve greeted, glancing over at the windows as if he was about to dive out of one.

"Hey, Cap."

"Hey there, short stuff." Sam greeted the kid, nodding hello.

"Um...hi." Peter mumbled, giving a quick little wave. The man looked Peter up and down, eyebrows raised.

"You're looking better."

"Oh, yeah...thanks. Um...I feel better." He shrugged, and Tony moved past him, heading straight for the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Gatorade that he tossed to Peter. The kid snatched it out of the air, thanking him before taking a long drink.

"Didn't know you'd be making lunch. Got enough for everyone?" Steve gestured to the second pot on the back burner with a small smile.

"Think this'll be enough?"

"The kid eats as much as you so…"

"So we'll make sandwiches too." Sam cut in, opening the refrigerator while Steve grabbed a loaf of bread.

Peter started to jump off the barstool, probably about to help, but Tony clamped a hand down on his shoulder and kept him in his seat. "Nope. No one who has had pneumonia in the last twenty-four hours will be helping with the preparation of food...or anything else."

"But...I don't mind helping." The boy started. Steve cut him off, shaking his head.

"Son, you need to rest as much as possible. You should probably be in bed, actually."

"Yeah, short stuff. Sit." Sam ordered, pointing a finger. Peter gave both men an unimpressed glare, and Tony snorted, squeezing his shoulder gently.

"You heard Birdman. Sit."

"Speaking of names, you got one, pipsqueak?" Sam asked, bringing the bread and lunch meat over to the counter, glancing up at Peter as he assembled the sandwiches. Peter grimaced at the nickname. "Cause I'm not calling you Spiderman. You're ten years old."

"I'm fifteen."

"Not much better." Tony rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Leave the kid alone." He ordered, putting a little warning in his voice. "It's called a secret identity for a reason, Bird boy."

"Oh yeah. You know all about secret identities Mr. I am Iron man." Sam mimicked, making a face as he imitated Tony's voice.

Things were almost normal. This could be any day at the compound. Bantering with Sam, Steve cooking...he almost expected Wanda or Natasha to come around the corner, on the lookout for lunch. Or for Vision to phase through the wall and scare the shit out of Clint who never could get used to that. (Honestly, none of them could.) But things weren't normal. The Accords were like an ax hanging over all of their heads. And Tony had no idea how to explain to the two grown men that it wasn't unreasonable for the UN to put some restrictions on them...that they couldn't just expect the entire world to trust a team of mostly American superheroes, including a few superhumans, to just police everyone without having to answer to anyone.

That absolute power corrupted absolutely.

Tony shook off those thoughts. He couldn't afford to think about that right now. He would keep trying. Keep negotiating and working on changing the Accords until they were something everyone could work with. Rhodey had been working his ass off in DC doing just that, but it would have been nice to have the rest of the team helping too.

A barking cough distracted all of them, and Sam dropped the smirk, glancing up at the boy who was gripping the marble island's countertop. "Kid? You okay?" Tony asked, moving back over to his side, and Peter waved him off.

"Fine." He mumbled between coughs. "Just...swallowed the wrong way." The kid was obviously lying, but Tony let it go, pushing the Gatorade closer and patting him firmly on the back a few times. "Sorry." He took a drink, face red, and Steve waved him off.

"Don't worry, son. Here." The All-American hero grabbed a bowl and filled it with chili that he pushed toward Peter, Sam placing two sandwiches on a plate and putting it beside the bowl. As Peter started on his sandwiches, the rest of them grabbed their own food, joining him at the island. "So, where do you go to school?" Steve asked after a moment, voice filling the almost awkward silence.

"Midtown School of Science and Technology," Peter told him between bites of chili.

"Damn. You some kind of genius kid?"

"Course he is." Tony put in, trying not to notice the fact that Peter practically glowed under his praise. Hadn't he told the kid that he thought he was impressive? That it was insane that a fourteen-year-old had been able to engineer his own web formula in a high school chemistry lab without getting caught? And that it worked! That it was crazy that said fourteen-year-old had gotten superpowers and used them exclusivley to help people and not to get more popular at school?

Apparently not enough. He took a deep breath, taking a bite of perfectly done chili as Peter scraped his bowl. "Um...thank you for lunch, Mr. Rogers."

Steve smiled at the boy, eyes softening. "Not a problem, son. And you can call me Steve."

"Hey? What about those sandwiches. I slaved over your lunch, kid."

Peter's lips twitched. "Thank you, Mr. Birdman." Tony found himself barking out a laugh, Steve joining in, and Sam snorted, a hand shooting out and ruffling Peter's hair.

"Watch it, short stuff." He told the boy with a grin that looked almost fond.

"It's Peter." The kid blurted, eyes darting over to Tony as if he was making sure this was okay. Tony seriously doubted that Steve Rogers, All American hero, and veteran hero therapist Sam Wilson would reveal the identity of a kid trying to help people to the world, so he gave the kid a brief nod, then drained his bottle of water.

"Nice to meet you, Peter," Steve told him with a nod.

"Yeah. Might still call you short stuff, though."

"No problem, Bird Boy." The man chuckled.

"You are eleven years old. How the hell you gonna call me 'bird boy?' Kids today, am I right, Cap?" Steve shook his head, a sad smile on his face, and Tony sighed, his own sad smile slipping, the 'if only's' running through his head. If only the Avengers had managed to stay together. If only the kid was joining an actual functioning team full of adults who could mentor him...instead he was stuck with Tony.

Just Tony was going to do his best. But watching the kid joke around with Sam and Steve...they could have been better. And this kid...this kid was going to make them better.

He was going to be the best of them all. And Tony couldn't wait to see it.


	7. When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed

When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed

Peter crouched on the roof of the Staten Island Ferry, leaning forward, staring through the lenses of his suit as his AI scanned the area for Mac Gargan, the Vulture's new buyer. Mr. Stark had been the one to talk to Aaron Davis...but he'd waited for Peter to return from his decathlon meet in DC to track him down. Peter wasn't sure if that was because the man wanted to wait for him to help, or because Mac Gargan and Toomes weren't supposed to meet until after Peter had returned from his trip. Either way, Peter had only been home for a few minutes before getting the call from Mr. Stark. "Hey kid. Nice work in DC...cool trophy." Peter had laughed a little, incredulous.

He had been talking on the phone to Tony Stark...who had called him. On his personal cell phone. And he was congratulating him because he'd won an Academic Decathlon competition. He was pretty sure he'd had a dream like this once.

"You...you saw that?" He'd asked, glad the man hadn't been there to see his cheeks turning red.

"Course I did. I'm Tony Stark. I have eyes everywhere." Peter had sat down on his bed, a pleasant flush filling his chest and making his heart warm. Mr. Stark had been looking out for him...had known that he'd won his competition.

"Thank you, Mr. Stark." He'd murmured, unable to wipe the goofy smile off his face.

"Sure thing, kid. But, as cool as it is that your nerd club won a competition, mostly thanks to you, by the way, I didn't call just to congratulate you. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Um...it's Monday so...I'm going to school." Peter had told him, confused, and he'd practically been able to hear the eye-roll.

"After school, kid."

"Oh...um...nothing?" Peter had hesitated. "I mean...probably patrolling but...I don't have plans."

"Good. I talked to Aaron Davis...got him to tell me where the Vulture is going to be next. Looks like he's got a weapons deal going down on the Staten Island Ferry tomorrow at 4:30."

"And you're going to stop him?" Peter had asked, the excitement leaking into his tone despite his best effort.

"I called the FBI." The man had corrected, and Peter had sighed, a little disappointed. His next words had perked him back up though. "But, I was thinking we might supervise. Just to make sure everything works out."

"We?" Peter had asked, and he'd been able to hear Mr. Stark's smile in his next words.

"Yeah, kiddo. Mentorship, remember. Couldn't hurt for you to see the FBI bust an illegal arms deal. We'll have their backs, just in case."

"What do you see, Pete?" Mr. Stark asked, words jolting him back to the present. Peter shifted a little in his crouch, trying to stay out of sight.

"Um...I don't see him. I think...oh, wait! There." Peter murmured, watching the little box appear around the man's face. His AI, who he'd named Karen much to Mr. Stark's bemusement, spoke softly in his ear.

"Mac Gargan facial recognition match." She told him, a list of the man's previous charges appearing in the corner of his screen. The man's eyes darted around the boat, and Peter caught a glimpse of the gun at his hip, shivering just a little. It had been almost a year, and still, guns only ever reminded him of his uncle.

"Alright, Pete. Stay where you are. We're just watching for now." Mr. Stark told him through the comms. The man was on a different part of the ferry, hidden from prying eyes. Peter himself hadn't been seen yet and hoped to keep it that way. As he watched, Mac Gargan moved to a different part of the ferry, slipping past the other passengers. Crawling forward a little, he saw him approach another man, the two of them speaking softly.

"That must be him," Peter whispered, watching through his mask, different screens appearing and attempting facial recognition. No luck...he watched as the two men, Mac Gargan and the shocker guy...well, he was different than the other shocker guy, but he had the same weapon, spoke, both of them close to the railing on the lower level of the ferry. They spoke for a few minutes before Peter heard the footsteps approach. Both men had guns, the shocker guy with his other weapon too, and then men in suits were appearing.

"FBI, put down your weapons." Peter felt his senses spike, shuddering as the jolt of fear made his hair stand on end.

"Mr. Stark." He murmured into the comms before he really figured out what was happening. Something was wrong. He didn't know what but...something was wrong.

"What's up, kid?" The man asked, voice urgent.

"Something's wrong." He whispered, scooting forward a little more. He wanted to crawl down...they were standing in front of the holding area of the ferry where cars and trucks were parked, and he knew someone was down there. The Vulture? He didn't know...but it seemed likely. And if the Vulture guy had his suit...then...the FBI would be outmatched. Right?

"Talk to me, Peter. What's the matter?" Iron Man demanded.

"It's not enough...it won't be enough…" And then he heard it...the suit. The metal wings and metal cutting through metal and he was jumping into action, oblivious to Mr. Stark urging him to wait. The sound of gunshots filled the air and Peter grabbed the first FBI agent he saw, glancing at the tunnel full of cars. "Move, move, move! Get out of the way, get out of the way! Move!" He shouted, dodging a laser shot at him by the man wearing goggles and a wingsuit and shoving another agent out of the way as the Vulture grabbed a car and drug it forward. "Move!" He screamed again. He could hear repulsors but he couldn't wait for Mr. Stark! The car barely missed the FBI agent that Peter grabbed by the suit, jerking him out of the way and practically throwing him into the railing.

"Let's get out of here!" The Vulture shouted, and Peter shoved another agent out of the way as the Vulture shot at them again. Peter tried to shoot a web at one of the fleeing criminals, but a purple blast cut through it. Turning to the Vulture, Peter shot a web at him instead, managing to get one to stick to his leg. The FBI continued to shoot at him, but their bullets didn't seem to do anything against his suit. In the daylight, he could see it better. The Vulture's whole body was encased, creepy looking goggles covering his eyes, and the metal suit moved to snip at the other strands of web that had attached, snipping like scissors. How could he move like that?

Peter held on tight to the web, yanking back and trying to pull him back down to the ferry. He could hear the Iron Man suit close by, but in the meantime, the Vulture was still shooting at him and the FBI agents. He shot another web, then jumped, flinching when he was pulled into a pole, body wrapping around it, his stomach aching at the contact. The Vulture guy shot the purple gun at him again, and, hoping to minimize the damage, he shot a web right at the gun, then another, pulling as hard as he could. "Karen! Taser webs!" He cried, and the Vulture let go of the weapon right as Iron Man appeared, shooting his repulsors at the flying villain.

Peter was thrown back as the gun came flying toward him, bouncing on the ground and activating. "Kid?" Mr. Stark asked, voice strained as he and the Vulture fought. Peter jumped to his feet, watching in horror as the gun bounced around, shooting the purple lasers that ripped easily through the metal of the ferry and the cars and trucks that sat parked in the long corridor. Peter shot webs desperately at the bouncing laser gun, doing his best to cover the barrel and stick it to the ground.

"I'm trying...I'm trying but…" Peter dodged as someone shot at him, still shooting webs at the laser gun thing. He was cut off when the laser sliced through his webs and flung itself away from him on the force of the beam. Peter followed as carefully and quickly as he could, glancing over to find Iron Man and the Vulture flying through the air, dodging and shooting at one another. Peter could do this. He could do this! He'd keep blanketing the thing in webs until he could get close enough to try and shut it off. Mr. Stark could count on him!

But then the weapon seemed to explode, purple lasers cutting through the web and upward and going straight through the metal of the ferry. People were screaming...and Peter felt his heart drop. There was a moment of stillness...and then he heard the water. The water bursting through the cracks until the ferry was splitting apart...and people were screaming again. Desperate, frantic screaming.

The ferry was going to sink.

It was his fault.

"Oh god...what do I do? Karen?" He asked. In the distance he could see the Iron Man and Vulture fighting...but he had to fix this! Now! "Get me an x-ray of the boat! Target all the strongest points!"

Immediately his view changed, showing him exactly what he'd asked for with the strongest points highlighted in red. Jumping into action, he began to shoot his webs at the strongest points, throwing web grenades wherever he could and praying that he didn't run out of web fluid. Flipping and jumping back and forth, he dodged around the supports and wrapped the webs around them, then wrapped even more webs around the ones he'd already placed.

Gasping for air, he landed on the balcony, looking over the webs and xray of the map once more. "Karen?" He asked. Some parts of the ferry were still on fire, the metal burning and melting, dripping into the ocean below. But everything was still, as if the people were holding their breath.

"Great job, Peter. You were 98% successful." It took a solid five seconds for those words to sink in, the map in his mask showing one red support.

"98?" He asked, stomach clenching. And then his webs were snapping. "No! No no...no!" The webs were snapping and people were screaming and water was filling the boat as the two halves began to fall apart once more. Jumping and shooting two webs, he strung himself between the two halves of the boat, groaning in pain as his arms were yanked apart. "Mr. Stark?" He cried into the comms.

"Just a second, kid." Came the tense reply. But he couldn't hold it...he wasn't strong enough!

"Please, Mr. Stark!" He cried again, and this time he had the man's attention. Peter heard him swear as he was stretched between the two parts of the ferry. "Help! Please!"

"I'm coming, kid!" Mr. Stark cried, and he couldn't stop the scream as something in his arm seemed to rip. "Hang on...just a second, Peter!" He practically shouted into the comms, and then, after what felt like a very long time, the pressure eased, leaving him hanging limply from the webs, left arm burning and useless at his side as he practically dropped, stumbling forward. Mr. Stark was flying around, repulsor going as he welded the ship back together, and several of his suits were pushing against the boat, holding the two halves together. Peter felt boneless, hands shaking as he dropped into the corner, not caring too much about the people that gave him worried glances.

"Peter?" Tony asked, voice soft in the comms. "Talk to me, kid. You alright?"

Peter had almost sunk the Staten Island Ferry. He'd almost killed all of those people. He wasn't a hero...he was the reason that those people could have died. All of them. Why hadn't he grabbed the gun faster? Why hadn't he tried harder to web it down? Or throw it in the ocean? Or...or call Mr. Stark faster? He felt his breath catch in a sob, his body shaking as he curled up in the corner, doing his best to take deep breaths.

And then Mr. Stark was kneeling in front of Peter who did his best to take it all in. Who tried to look up at the man and focus. "Kid?"

"I didn't...didn't mean to." He whispered, closing his eyes under the mask. He'd let Mr. Stark down. This was his fault! Everyone could have died because of him! He was supposed to be a superhero but...Mr. Stark had had to help him and the Vulture had probably gotten away. Because of him. If Mr. Stark hadn't brought him along...his thoughts were cut off when Mr. Stark came closer.

"C'mon, kid. Up you go." Iron Man urged, a careful arm slipping around Peter and pulling him to his feet. Peter followed dumbly, left arm hanging at his side. It hurt, but he didn't know what to do about it. He couldn't lift it...couldn't do anything but let it hang there, pain increasing as adrenaline faded, leaving him shaky and breathless. The other people on the ferry, who had been cheering for Iron Man only seconds ago, backed away and watched as Mr. Stark led Peter out onto the deck. No one interfered...the ferry had turned back toward the shore and was hurrying to get the passengers to safety. Mr. Stark had managed to fix it for the most part, but Peter was sure they didn't want to chance it.

"Can you hang on to the suit?" The man's voice was soft, and Peter nodded, wrapping his good arm around the suit and sticking his hand to his back as Iron Man took off, his head resting against the man's shoulder. He didn't go far...Iron Man landed on solid ground far enough away that they were away from prying eyes, but close enough that they could watch the ferry and make sure that everyone made it okay. Peter took a shaky step back, his left arm aching as he leaned against the railing that lined the concrete ledge. "Kid? You alright?" Mr. Stark asked gently.

"Was anyone hurt?" Peter asked, his voice hoarse.

"No. Everyone's fine. Well...a couple of the FBI guys are going to have bruises, but they'll be fine thanks to you."

"But...if they had been…"

"Kid…"

"It would have been on me! This was my fault! I…"

"Peter." The man stepped forward, voice soft and serious. "Look at me, kid." The Iron Man mask retracted, leaving Tony Stark's face staring down at him, eyes soft and worried. "This was not your fault…" Peter yanked his mask off, sure that his eyes were red but not caring at the moment.

"I let them get away! I knew they had alien weapons but I…"

"Kid." Mr. Stark placed his hand on Peter's good shoulder, grounding him. "None of this was your fault. If it hadn't been for you, someone could have been hurt. But you held that ferry together. By yourself." Peter shook his head, but Mr. Stark kept going. "Peter!" He felt his eyes heating up, lip quivering as he lowered his gaze. It was his fault. His fault that the ferry had been destroyed and his fault that those people could have died. But Mr. Stark was looking at him, eyes wide and earnest and pleading. "You did good, kid. So good. You saved those people."

"If I hadn't been there…"

"If you hadn't been there, I don't know that I could have gotten the Vulture away from those civilians and kept the ferry together."

"But he got away." Mr. Stark sighed.

"Yeah. He did. But we'll get him, kiddo. Don't worry about that." Mr. Stark glanced over at the road, then placed a careful hand on Peter's left shoulder, his touch light as he put a pair of sunglasses on. "What are we looking at, Karen?"

"Peter's left shoulder was dislocated and he experienced tearing in these muscles." Peter could only assume that she was showing Mr. Stark something through the lenses of the sunglasses that the man pulled off.

"Alright." The suit retracted, opening up, and Mr. Stark stepped out, loosening his tie and pulling his jacket off, putting his sunglasses in his pocket. "We're gonna get you back to the compound. May thinks you're there anyway, right?" Peter nodded, flinching when Mr. Stark gently gripped his wrist and shifted his arm until it was parallel to his chest. "There you go, buddy. I know." He murmured, slipping his jacket under Peter's arm and carefully propping it up.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark…" He whispered, shaking his head, tears filling his eyes. He didn't want to cry. Not in front of Mr. Stark.

"You did good, kid. You have nothing to apologize for." The man tightened the sleeves around the back of his neck, then patted his back. "Come on. Happy has the car. Think you can put the mask back on?" Peter nodded, managing to pull it over his head with just his right hand. Mr. Stark immediately stepped in to help, straightening the mask with a gentleness that surprised Peter. "You're okay, kid. We're gonna get your arm fixed up, and then we're going to try and figure out where this Vulture guy is hiding out."

The boy followed him dumbly to the car where Happy was waiting, his almost worried eyes on them. Tony opened the door for him, a hand on his head as he urged him into the car, and then Mr. Stark was sliding into the other side. "How are you doing, Pete?" He asked as Happy climbed into the driver's seat. Peter glanced past them at the ferry that was pulling into the dock. Whole. Everyone was okay. He closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the headrest. "Pete?"

"Fine," He muttered.

"What happened, boss?" Happy asked. He was sure that the man was staring at him, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and look.

"The FBI wasn't exactly equipped to deal with the Vulture, as it turns out. They had more alien weapons that we thought."

"What's wrong with the kid?" Happy asked as if Peter weren't in the car. He didn't care.

"DIslocated shoulder. He managed to hold the ferry together until I could get the suits there."

"Damn, kid." Happy murmured. Peter almost smiled, opening his eyes and flinching when he turned the corner and jostled Peter's arm.

"You should have seen him, Hap. Kid's stronger than anyone I've ever seen. Even Cap. Barely even needed me." The man scooted a little closer, resting a hand on Peter's good shoulder. He was being so nice. Not that Mr. Stark had been mean to him or anything...but ever since he'd saved him from the river...ever since he'd woken up in the Medbay, things had felt different with Mr. Stark. Like the man actually wanted him around. Like he really did want to be his mentor, and that treacherous, hopeful voice kept up its mantra in the back of his mind. 'Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe...maybe this was real. Maybe Mr. Stark really did want to be his mentor. Maybe.'

It was a long drive back to the compound, and Peter pulled out his phone, texting May and assuring her that he was having a great time at the internship. The tentative plan was to have a doctor take a look at his arm and then Mr. Stark was going to call her and tell her that he'd fallen/gotten into an accident/some other BS story to explain the dislocated arm and the sling. Peter didn't feel great about lying to her, but honestly, he didn't know what else to do. He had school the next day, and he had no idea what to tell anyone about the sling he was definitely going to have to wear.

He texted Ned too, who had sent him at least three full pages worth of texts asking him if he was okay, if Mr. Stark had yelled at him, if he'd been working with Mr. Stark, etc. Peter answered them all one-handed, surprised to find that as time passed, Tony had eased him closer, scooting closer to the middle, until finally, Peter was resting against his side, the man's arm wrapped around him, careful of his shoulder. Peter didn't even question it...he felt like he didn't have any strength left. Dropping his head slowly on Mr. Stark's shoulder, he waited for the man to scold him. Or...if not scold, then at least sit up a little. Scoot away. Tell him they weren't there yet. But Mr. Stark didn't say a word. Just held him a little closer, both of them listening to the soft rock music on the radio.


	8. Sleepover at the Compound

The boy shook as he sat at Tony's side, his head resting on the man's shoulder, and honestly, the feeling of the kid at his side, Tony's arm wrapping around him, felt exactly right. He was breathing a little fast, but Tony figured that could been the pain...or the fading adrenaline. He'd taken the kid along hoping to give the kid a glimpse into what they did...to let him be backup in a mostly safe situation...to give him some training.

Okay fine...to spend time with him.

The kid had been in DC for the weekend, and before that, he'd been busy with school, Tony busy with meetings, and he'd wanted to see him. Wanted to prove to the boy that he really did want to be his mentor. Because he could see it in the kid's eyes...Peter didn't quite trust it. He was waiting for Tony to drop him. And Tony couldn't really blame him after how things had been between them at first. So Tony had called him up after he'd gotten back from his trip, congratulating him on his win in DC. Something his father never would have done. Howard Stark had never cared much about his son's accomplishments.

Not that he was the kid's father. But still. His dad had never given him any kind of support and he was going to change things with Peter. So he'd congratulated him. Looked up pictures of those kids winning in the local paper and...okay, maybe he'd had Friday save a copy to his server. For...normal reasons. Not because he thought of Peter as his son. He was the kid's mentor. He cared about him. So he'd invited the kid to come along on this ferry mission surveillance thing. He'd been pretty sure that the FBI could handle it...they always had before.

But this guy, the Vulture, was different. He had some seriously dangerous weapons. And Peter had saved those FBI agents. If the kid hadn't been there, Tony wasn't sure if he'd have been there fast enough to save them. He wasn't sure if he'd been able to stop the Vulture from hurting anyone and fix the ferry. And he got that the kid was guilty about all this. Hell, he was guilty too. But he also knew that Peter had done all he could. And he'd succeeded. He knew that Peter thought that if anyone had been hurt, it would be on him.

But Tony also knew that Peter had been hurt, and that was at least partially on him.

The kid had saved a lot of lives...including those of the FBI agents that Tony had called. He'd been smart. Jumped into action when he'd suspected that something was wrong. Grabbed two ends of a ferry and held it together on his own for longer than should have been possible because he'd wanted to save those people...had nearly ripped himself apart in the process. And then he'd blamed himself for it...for nearly not saving them. For almost failing. As if he hadn't done the best he could.

He was a good kid, and Tony knew that one day, he'd be the best of them. He looked forward to seeing that day.

The boy shook a little beside him, and Tony wasn't sure if it was the pain or shock. Or both. Still, he held the kid close, his head resting on Tony's shoulder once more. It was nice...having the kid trust him like that. Peter's left arm, still in a makeshift sling, must have hurt. According to Friday, the muscle was pretty badly damaged, not to mention the dislocated shoulder. He had already had Friday get a doctor ready to take a look at him. And they'd get him a real sling. And some pain meds. He didn't have anything yet that would work as well with his enhanced metabolism, but they would help a little.

"You with me, kid?" Tony asked, keeping his voice down. Happy was shooting them worried looks from the front seat but he ignored them. Peter had been quiet for almost twenty minutes now, ever since he'd put his phone down and leaned his head on Tony's shoulder, which had been a slow, heartbreakingly hesitant process.

The boy didn't trust it yet. Was still afraid of Tony turning him away...pushing him off. But that wasn't going to happen.

"Mhm." Peter mumbled, dead weight against Tony's side. That part was fine. He'd instructed Friday to have the medbay prepped, and even though there'd been no sign of concussion, he was still worried about Peter falling asleep. He wanted the kid conscious and taking. But the boy just lay there, even when he shook him a little.

"Hey. Look at me, Pete." The boy opened his eyes then, looking kind of dazed. He'd taken his mask off earlier once they were safely in the back seat and away from the city, and his eyes were red-rimmed and dull. "We're not too far now. You okay?" Peter nodded, and Tony realized he wasn't going to get much out of him at the moment. "Alright, kid. Just rest." And Peter did, dropping his head back onto Tony's shoulder.

When they finally arrived back at the compound, Tony jumped out of the car practically before it stopped moving, hurrying around to Peter's side to help him out, but Peter was already standing, leaning a hip against the car as if to steady himself as he shut the door awkwardly with the arm not strapped to his chest in a makeshift sling. Happy was standing beside the front of the car, hovering, expression grim. Tony had tried to play it off, but Happy had seen right through it...that man had been with him for years, so he knew how to read Tony better than just about anyone. The boy just blinked heavily, looking dead on his feet, and Tony put a hand on his back, gesturing for Peter to come with him. The kid followed, leaning against him a little as the two made their way to the elevator in a silence that was almost comfortable.

One of Tony's personal doctors was waiting for them, and Tony assured Peter that the doctors had all signed strict confidentiality agreements. Peter didn't look to sure, but he still allowed himself to be guided over to the bed. "Hello. I'm Dr. Wu." The woman introduced herself, face professional but kind. "All of your data has already been sent by Friday, so I can put your shoulder back into place, but we'll need to do some scans to see what kind of muscle damage we're looking at."

Passively, Peter allowed her to undo Tony's makeshift sling, her hand gently supporting his arm. Tony sat in a chair close by, keeping a close eye but not hovering. The kid stiffened when it was time for her to move his arm back into place, and Tony took that as his cue, heading over to the bed and sitting behind the boy, a hand on his back. "This will just take a second." The Doctor promised. Peter nodded, leaning back against Tony just a little.

When she guided his arm back into place, even Tony flinched at the pop, but worse was the way that Peter gasped, and the tiny noise that escaped. "Good job, kid." Tony soothed, hoping to distract him. "You should have seen me the last time she had to do something like that to me. Cried like a baby." He spoke softly, a hand on Peter, good shoulder, the boy releasing a shuddering breath and giving a weak smile.

Next were scans that the kid dozed through. The doctor murmured to Tony that this was how his body healed...by getting as much rest as possible while repairing any damage. When she confirmed that he wouldn't need surgery and that he would most likely be feeling much better after a good night's sleep and plenty of food, she put him into a proper sling, then left them to rest. Peter had been tucked into the bed, blankets pulled up to his chest, and he slept for almost three hours despite being in that suit.

In the meantime, Tony ordered pizza (and brownies and plenty of soda) and made himself comfortable at the kid's bedside. The doctor had told him that Peter would need to eat a lot, and make sure to drink plenty of water, but Tony figured that some soda wouldn't hurt. When the boy finally woke, it was a slow process, with lots of stretching and muttering, his brow furrowing in confusion when he started to move his arm. "Easy, bud. Keep that arm still...that's what the sling's for." Tony cautioned, scooting closer and leaning in, reaching a hand out to rest on his good shoulder. "You with me again?"

"Mr. Stark? Wha…" Peter blinked at him, glancing around the medbay and frowning. "Where…"

"You're in the Compound, Pete. Medbay. We had to get your shoulder looked at. Remember?" He nodded a little, wiping clumsily at his face.

"Did I fall asleep?" He asked, sounding self-conscious, and Tony smiled.

"Yeah, for a couple of hours. You needed the rest. How does your arm feel?"

"Uh...". Peter was waking up and thus was better at lying apparently. "Fine."

"Okay. Try again." He suggested, lifting an eyebrow. Peter blinked at him, looking like he might pass out again, and Tony softened his tone, mindful of the fact that the kid wasn't looking too great. "Here. Take a drink." He held out a glass of soda that Peter stared at for a moment, then took with a shaking hand. Tony braced him, easing a hand under his arm to keep him steady as he took a long drink, then another, and as Tony watched a little color seemed to come back to his face. "Why don't we grab something to eat? We're still working on pain medicine that can work with your metabolism, but you just got a shot of some regular ones that should help take the edge off."

"I'm fine." The boy insisted again, starting to sit up. He managed it, blinking heavily for a second, and Tony slid an arm behind him, ignoring the wide-eyed stare that earned him. Supporting the kid for a second, he rearranged the pillows, then helped the boy sit up against them. For a moment, the kid looked like he might need to lay back down, but he took a deep breath, muttering an embarrassed 'thanks' and shifting against the pillows so that he could rest his head against the wall.

"Alright. Let me grab the pizza. You say put." Peter nodded, smiling tightly. Tony had to assume that he was in pain, and that was he reason the kid was being so quiet, but when he handed Peter a paper plate with three slices of pizza on it, the boy took it without meeting his eyes. "Kid? You okay?"

"I just…" He hesitated, then finally met Tony's eyes, and he saw the way the kid's lip trembled...the raw vulnerability there. "I...I'm sorry, Mr. Stark." He whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Kid…"

"I'm sorry...I should have been able to…"

"Stop." Tony hadn't meant for the word to come out so sharply, but it did get the kid to stop apologizing. "Kid, we already talked about this." He reminded him, softening his tone.

"But I…"

"But you saved a lot of people." He interrupted. "That's all that matters. Nobody was hurt. That's because of you. So stop apologizing for it. I should have been the one apologizing to you. I should have come quicker. I should have been closer."

"Mr. Stark you couldn't…" Peter started, shaking his head.

"Neither could you." He cut him off. "Neither of us could have known. You can't beat yourself up over this. You're going to heal up, and then we're going to find this Vulture asshole again. It's okay. You did good, Peter. I'm proud of you, kid." Peter stared up at him, shock blatant on his face, and Tony reached out, gripping his good shoulder. It was uncomfortable and yeah, he was making himself vulnerable here. But this kid needed to hear it so he could bear a little discomfort. "I'm proud of you, Pete." Peter swallowed hard, dropping his eyes to his lap, ears going a bit red, and Tony smiled, ruffling his hair. "Alright. Enough of that. Eat before it gets too cold."

Peter did as he asked, taking a bite, and then another. Soon the kid was scarfing down all three slices of pizza, then the three more that Tony put on his plate. Then the brownies. Then more soda. (Then one more slice of pizza.) When the kid finally finished eating, Tony grabbed him a bottle of water, figuring he'd at least try to be a responsible adult and follow the doctor's orders.

May thought he was working at the compound anyway, so he just had Peter make sure it was okay for him to stay the night. Every other night, Peter had stayed in the medbay, but Tony figured it was time to show him his room. So, handing him a couple of pain pills that would hopefully take the edge off, he waited for Peter to swallow them, then held out a hand and helped him stand. Peter yawned, belatedly pressing a hand over his mouth. "I shouldn't be tired." The kid murmured, sounding just whiny enough to make Tony smirk. "I just woke up."

"It's how your body heals itself," Tony told him, gesturing for Peter to following him as he headed down the hall.

"Um...are we going to the medbay?" Tony lifted an eyebrow, glancing back at the kid and shaking his head.

"No." He hesitated by one door, then tapped on it with his knuckles. "This is mine and Pepper's room. And this…" He gestured to the door across from it. "Is your room." Peter just stared at him, blinking slowly as he seemed to try and catch up.

"I...my...my room?"

"Yeah, kid. Unless you want to sleep on my balcony." The kid didn't seem to catch the joke, but Tony chuckled anyway, gesturing for Peter to open the door. He did after a second, pushing it open then freezing.

"Wha...what...Mr. Stark…" Peter stammered, a growing smile on his face as he looked around the room. The kid turned a slow circle, finally coming back to stare at Tony. "Is this…you...you decorated a room here for me?"

The wonder in his voice made Tony smile, and he moved over to Peter's side, a hand moving to rest on his back. "Just thought you might need a place to crash some nights if we went too late in the lab."

Peter grinned up at him, eyes lighting up. "You shouldn't have...you didn't have to..." Tony lifted an eyebrow and, to his surprise, the kid let it go. "Thank you! It's...amazing!"

This kid. It was just a bedroom. Sure, the comforter was Star Wars themed and yes, there might have been a new LEGO set and a couple of new books on the bookshelf. And yes, the minifridge was fully stocked with water and Gatorade...but the kid was looking up at him like he'd just done something actually amazing.

Tony squeezed his good shoulder, gesturing to the door in the corner of the room. "Not a problem, Pete. Bathrooms through there. There are pajamas in the dresser, clothes in the closet…"

"Mr. Stark you really didn't have to…"

Tony waved him off. "If you need anything, let Friday know. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Yeah...okay. Thank you!" The boy was still looking at the room...still looking like a kid on Christmas morning. Tony chuckled, patting him on the back.

"See you in the morning kid. Good night."

"Night, Mr. Stark!"

Tony smiled to himself, shaking his head a little and wondering how long it would be until he was fully attached...until this kid was irreplaceable in his life.

He had a feeling that it was already too late. "Fri, give me everything we've got on The Vulture."


	9. An Invitation to Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I appreciate all of you so much. Your kind feedback encourages me to keep writing the things I love :)

Peter honestly couldn't believe that this was his life. It didn't seem real...didn't seem possible. He was in Decathlon practice, sitting between Ned and Abe, each of them working through a practice test, but all he could think about was the fact that the weekend had been spent with Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. At the Avengers Compound...in a bedroom designed for him. By Tony Stark.

Tony Stark had set aside a bedroom for him at the Avengers Compound and had decorated it just for him. Peter Parker.

"And time." Peter blinked, looking up from his test at the teacher who was holding a hand out. Sighing, he handed the nearly-finished test over. It was a problem he'd been having all day...this struggle to focus on anything but memories of working with Mr. Stark in the lab and eating meals together and the way that Mr. Stark would pat him on the shoulder or wrap an arm around him. Just like Ben, but different.

"What's wrong, Penis? Too busy thinking about your fake internship with Tony Stark?" Peter rolled his eyes. Yes, actually he had. Only it hadn't been fake. Well...okay, the internship itself was fake. But hanging out with Mr. Stark was real! And he had a bedroom at the compound. The Avengers Compound. Mr. Stark had seemed to find it funny that Peter had been smiling brightly all morning despite the fact that his arm had still been in a sling.

"It's just a bedroom, Pete." Mr. Stark had told him over breakfast. Breakfast! Mr. Stark had made him an omelet for breakfast! Iron Man had, once again, cooked for him! Like...like a normal person! Okay, so he knew that Mr. Stark was a normal person. All people were basically normal people. But still.

"But...but it's...I mean…" Peter had trailed off, sheepish, but the man had only shaken his head and smiled a little.

"Go ahead and eat up. We've got work to do."

Mr. Stark had been trying to find out who the Vulture was while they'd worked on his suit, having Friday scan the city, looking for any clues, reports of alien weapons...anything really. But, according to the man, this Vulture guy knew how to cover his tracks. "I have Friday looking out for him...she's scanning the city. If she's able to find him, she'll alert both of us."

Peter had looked up in surprise, a smile tugging at his lips as he'd put the screwdriver he'd been using down. "Both of us?" Mr. Stark had lifted his eyebrows.

"Of course. We're going to get this guy, Pete. Don't worry about that. I mean, he calls himself The Vulture." Peter had snorted.

"To be fair, he might not have picked it out himself. I'm only Spiderman because people called me that on Youtube."

The man had rolled his eyes, smile turning almost fond. "Right. Almost forgot."

"And aren't you only Iron Man because they called you that in the newspaper?" Tony had thrown a towel at him, making him laugh as he'd dodged it easily.

"Yeah, yeah, kid. I get it. We don't get to pick our made-up names."

Doing his best to focus once more on Academic Decathlon and forget, even if just for a little while, about working in the lab with Mr. Stark, he managed to finish the next text, and then win the next round, effectively shutting Flash up for the rest of the day.

Apparently, Friday wasn't able to find the Vulture. At least, not for a few weeks, even though she was scanning surveillance cameras and police activity constantly. Peter didn't see Mr. Stark in that time, but he kept up his patrols, and, surprisingly, the man had started texting him. Ned freaked out the first time he showed him one of the texts the man had sent. It had been pretty simple. "Hey, kid. How's the shoulder?"

Ned had nearly passed out.

His shoulder was fine, of course. With his enhanced healing, it had been completely healed by the time Mr. Stark had dropped him off at home with a warning that he would be busy for a while, but also that he'd keep in touch. 

It kind of sucked that their only actual contact was through text messages. He kept hoping, every time he went out as Spiderman, that Mr. Stark (or Iron Man) would come and find him. Maybe even patrol with him. It had sort of seemed like...like Mr. Stark really cared about him. Like he wanted to spend time with him and maybe even...mentor him. That's what he'd said. He'd said that he wanted to be his mentor. And...okay, Peter was afraid to trust it. He was afraid to believe it...to really believe it. Mr. Stark had been really nice to him.

And Peter understood that Mr. Stark was busy. It wasn't even that he hadn't heard from Mr. Stark! The man texted him almost every day. It had started with the text about his shoulder. Other ones were about patrols. Questions about how school was going. How he was doing. It was surreal at times...to send text messages to Tony Stark. But it was also nice. Mr. Stark hadn't forgotten about him. It wasn't like after Germany...like when he had disappeared for months and then Peter had ended up in the river.

Mr. Stark had told him that he was important, and ever since, he'd followed through. He'd texted, even calling a few times. Keeping in contact. Making sure that Peter knew he was still there for him. One of his more recent texts was even an apology for not seeing him since the whole ferry incident.

An apology! From Tony Stark! (Okay, so Peter was still firmly in the 'hero-worship' stage of this relationship. But how couldn't he be? This was Tony Freaking Stark! His actual hero!)

It had been almost a month, and Peter was sitting in his room, working on homework, when his phone buzzed. Glancing at it, ready to answer later if it was from Ned, he froze when he saw Mr. Stark's name pop up. Almost jumping to answer, glad that no one was around to see him so eagerly grab for his phone, he snatched it up. When he touched the accept button, Mr. Stark's face filled the screen. "Hey, Pete! How's it going?"

"Um...hey, Mr. Stark! It's good! How are you?"

The man chuckled, his smile fond as he pulled his sunglasses off. It looked like he was in a car. "I'm fine, kid. Just been coordinating the big move to the Compound, trying to sort out this Accords bullshit, the usual."

"Oh...right." Peter has heard about that...had heard that the Avengers Tower would be a thing of the past. "You're going to...get rid of the tower?" Peter asked, voice a little sad.

"Yeah. I figured it was time. But we're going to move all the Avenger's weapons to the Compound first. I was thinking after moving day, you could spend another weekend at the Compound? Sans dislocated shoulder this time?" The boy's eyes went wide and it took his brain a second to catch up to the invitation.

"Really? Yeah! That would be great." The man's whole face softened, and he nodded.

"Sounds good, Pete. I was also wondering if, once I've got everything sorted out at the Compound, you'd like to make that internship a real thing."

"A real...you mean...like, I'd actually get to come to the Compound and work with you?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"That would be...yeah! Yeah, Mr. Stark! That would be great." Mr. Stark nodded, glancing up at what Peter assumed was the front seat, then back at him. "Have you heard from...um...you know. The other…"

"Steve?" Mr. Stark asked, lifting an eyebrow, and Peter nodded a little sheepishly. "Not recently. But don't worry about them, Pete. It'll work out. I'll make sure of it." There was a determination in the man's eyes that Peter couldn't doubt, not for a second. As if realizing that Peter would wonder why he was suddenly so anxious to reconcile with Steve and the others, Mr. Stark smiled again. "He saved your life, kid. I owe him one." Peter dropped his eyes, flushing a little at the actual affection in the older man's eyes. He'd said it before...Mr. Stark had told Peter that he was important. That he cared about him. And he could see it in the man's eyes. Mr. Stark was telling the truth.

"So...when's moving day?"

"You know, it's actually on the same night as a local school dance. Homecoming, I believe. Have you heard of it?" Peter blinked in surprise as the man smirked.

"Oh...yeah. I mean...I'm not going…"

"You're not? Why?"

"I just...I didn't ask anyone and...I just never...you know." He shrugged, trailing off, flushing once more when Mr. Stark chuckled.

"Well, go ask someone! There's got to be someone in your school you want to go to a dance with." The man was teasing and Peter hesitated, Liz's name coming to mind. He must have seen it. "You want some help? I could rent you a blimp. Or a skywriter."

"Nope! No thank you! I don't need any help." Mr. Stark laughed out loud, throwing his head back, and Peter had to smile. "Thanks, though."

"Alright, Spiderling. Go ask a girl to a dance. Or maybe it's a boy...either way, send me pictures. It'll be great. And after your dance and moving day, we'll start your real internship."

"And the Vulture?"

"Still looking. No luck just yet." Mr. Stark sighed. "Whoever the hell this guy is, he's good at covering his tracks. Friday hasn't found any activity yet, but she's keeping an eye out. There have been a couple of reports of alien weapons. If you run into any, call me. Deal?

"Sure."

"And by that, I mean call me before you go rushing in and trying to handle it yourself. Got me?"

"Yeah. Okay. I promise."

"Good. Alright. I'll let you get back to your homework. Get good grades and all that jazz."

"Thanks, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, kid?"

"Yeah?" He asked, right before he put his phone down.

"What's their name?" Peter frowned in confusion. "The person you're going to ask to the dance."

Feeling daring and brave and light, Peter grinned. "Goodnight, Mr. Stark."

The man was still laughing as Peter ended the call.

The next day at school, three unanswered text messages on his phone asking him who he was going to the dance with, Peter ran into Liz in the halls. Liz, who was beautiful and smart and older than him but always nice to him, unlike some of the older girls. And they'd hung out together in DC, swimming at that hotel and riding together on the bus. She'd told him that she thought he was the smartest person in the whole school. So maybe...maybe he had a chance.

"Hey...hey Liz."

The girl glanced up from the bulletin board she was rearranging, her eyes lighting up, a smile turning the corners of her mouth. "Hi, Peter."

"Um...how's it going?"

"It's good. Are you ready for practice today after school?"

"Oh...yeah, definitely." Imagining how much Mr. Stark would be laughing at him right about now, Peter hurried on. "So, I was just wondering...I mean, Homecoming looks like it's going to be great. And I was wondering if you had...if you had a...a date. Yet. Like...if anyone had asked you or if you were planning on going with anyone. Or planning on going at all!"

"I don't actually have a date yet." She smiled, laughing just a little self-consciously. "I guess I was so busy planning it that I never got around to finding someone to go with."

"Oh! Well...then...would you...do you want to go...with me?"

The smile softened, her face lighting up. "Yeah. I would."

"Um...great." She laughed when he did, the awkwardness nothing compared to how excited he suddenly was.

"Why don't you come to my house before the dance and my dad can drive us. He's going out of town anyway...it'll be on his way."

"Oh, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Um….I'll text you the address and everything? And my dress is red."

He had no idea why that was important...he'd have to ask May. Either way...he had a date. An actual date!

Pulling out his phone, he only hesitated for a second before texting Mr. Stark, a response to his last message. "Her name is Liz."

He got two smiley faces and a thumbs up emoji in return. Then a second message. "Dinner's on me if you want to take her out after."


	10. The Choices We All Make

Before Peter knew it, it was time. Time to rent a tux and get a corsage and maybe learn to dance and tie a tie and...he didn't really know what else. It was his first dance. Like, the first one he'd ever gone to with a girl. He and Ned had gone to homecoming as friends the year before. That had been great...no pressure, no girls. Lots of fun. May helped him tie his tie, the two of them watching a youtube video at least five times before he got it right. He probably could have called Mr. Stark, but that seemed like a bit too much like a question one would ask...well...one's uncle. One's father. Not one's superhero mentor who seemed to be stepping into a told that Peter didn't quite understand yet.

In the end, he texted Mr. Stark a picture that May had taken of him, but only after about twelve texts practically begging for one. "Come on, kid. It's your first big dance! I want to see your tux. You did get a tux, right?"

Then another. "If you didn't get a tux, you need to."

And another. "Do you need me to get you a tux?"

Sighing, he'd handed his phone to May. "Can you take a picture?" Somewhat confused about his put upon expression, she'd taken the picture in which he had his arms crossed, his eye roll exaggerated. When he sent it to Mr. Stark, the response was almost immediate. "Looking great, kid. Have a good time."

Then one last text. "Don't forget to get a picture with Liz."

Mr. Stark was acting like...like Peter was his…

His kid.

The man had told him that he was important. That he cared about him. And Peter believed him. But he knew that it would be dangerous to start thinking about being someone's kid. He had May. May was his aunt and basically his mom and he loved her and she loved him...she was all the family he had left. But now, Mr. Stark was acting like his family...which was great! Unless he changed his mind.

Unless he decided that Peter wasn't worth it. That he didn't actually want to be a...a mentor to Peter. At first, Peter had thought that the man really liked him. Then he'd disappeared for three months. And then he'd come back. For now, things were great. But Peter thought that he might want to wait until after the internship...until after he could really prove himself to Mr. Stark, before he started hoping for anything more.

It would be dangerous to get his hopes up.

Shaking off those thoughts, he focused instead on Liz...on dancing with her. On maybe on going to dinner with her afterward. Mr. Stark had a reservation for the two of them at a local restaurant and had already paid. A driver was going to pick them up from the dance and drive them to the restaurant and then take them home...Mr. Stark had assured Peter that it was really no trouble. Happy was busy with moving day, but he was going to send another driver, all the logistics were taken care of...all he wanted Peter to do was 'have fun, kid!'

Peter climbed into the front seat of his aunt's car, hands clasped too tightly on his lap, and May glanced over with a smile, pulling out into traffic. "Are you excited?" He gave a quick nod. "You have your wallet?" He nodded again. "Her corsage?"

"Yeah."

"The knowledge that I love you very much and that you're going to have fun?" He smiled a bit at that, relaxing just a fraction.

"Love you too, May."

For a while they drove in silence, Peter sending a few texts to Ned making plans for where to meet and what they were doing after. Ned wasn't going with anyone, but seemed cheerful anyway, and promised that he'd be fine, that he didn't need to tag along with Peter and Liz...that it would, in fact, be weird to have a third wheel on their first date.

Peter insisted that it was barely a date.

Ned disagreed.

"Okay. What are you going to do?" May asked, pulling up to the familiar house...the one he'd been to a party at right before nearly drowning...before his relationship with Mr. Stark had seemed to shift dramatically.

"Open doors for her. Be polite. Tell her she's pretty, but not so much that it's creepy."

"Don't be creepy." May agreed, nodding seriously.

"Okay...love you May. I'll see you tonight."

"Have fun, baby."

And then he was waking up to the door, palms sweating despite rubbing them on his pants, heart racing. He reached the door, took a few breaths, then rang the doorbell, reminding himself that this was fine. He'd met Liz's mom before and she was nice. Liz has said yes to going to this dance and they would have fun! It was no pressure!

When the man who must have been Liz's father opened the door, he thought he might throw up so violently did his spider senses go off, cold chills going up and down his back, throat closing up, stomach churning. He'd never seen this man before...never laid eyes on him. But something was wrong. Something terrible was wrong. Hands shaking, he stared up at the smiling man, wide-eyed.

"You must be Peter."

"Yeah."

"I'm Liz's dad. Put her there." The man held out a hand that Peter forced himself to take, feeling like he was somehow underwater. "Hell of a grip!" The man didn't seem to notice that Peter's throat had closed up...that he couldn't speak. Could barely move. "Come on in here! Come in!" He ushered, and Peter let himself be led.

In the kitchen, Liz's mom looked up and smiled. "Hello, Peter. You look very handsome." Peter knew that he should thank her. Should say...something. Anything. But even as she was making some kind of joke with her husband, he felt like he couldn't speak. Couldn't understand...because his senses were exploding and his hands were shaking.

"You alright Pete?"

That was what Mr. Stark had called him.

He knew that voice.

It was almost like there was an audible click in his brain. He knew that voice. Had heard it at the ferry. The Vulture...but how? He had to be wrong. He had to be. "Yeah." He told the man, voice strangled.

"You sure? You look pale. Do you want something to drink? Bourbon? Scotch? Something like that?"

The man that had tried to kill him a few weeks ago was offering him alcohol. "I'm not old enough to drink," Peter told him, unable to enjoy the absurdity of it all thanks to the fact that his nerves were on fire. He was in a building with the Vulture...with someone who would kill him if given the chance.

"That's the right answer." The man told him with a grin, pointing at him like...like a dad. Like any dad. He was Liz's dad. Suddenly, the man's eyes went wide, a soft smile turning his lips, and Peter turned to find Liz in a beautiful red dress. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. And Peter wanted to tell her how beautiful and gorgeous she was...wanted to get a moment alone with her and maybe even kiss her.

But her dad was the Vulture.

"Don't you look beautiful." Her father smiled, and Peter wished he was wrong...hoped he was wrong...knew he wasn't wrong.

"Please don't embarrass me, Dad." Liz murmured, blushing a little as she brushed some hair behind her ear.

"Doesn't she, Pete?"

"Yeah...you look really good."

"Once again, that's the right answer." He was making a good impression...a great impression apparently, despite the fact that he felt like he was barely able to breathe. Vaguely, he was aware of his own hands pushing the corsage into Liz's hands...of posing for pictures. Trying to smile. Trying not to stare at the man who looking increasingly concerned about him. Then they were walking out the door...he thought the man might have called him Pedro. He didn't care...because he'd found the Vulture and he had no idea what to do about it.

His suit was at home.

What could he do?

"What are you gonna do, Pete?" The man asked, and Peter jumped as if electrocuted.

"Huh?"

"After you graduate." He clarified, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. "What do you think you'll do?"

"Don't grill him, Dad." Liz scolded, staring down at her phone. Her dad went on, asking again what his plans were, saying something about the kids at his school or something...he needed to text Mr. Stark. He reached into his pocket, about to pull it out, when Liz's words broke through his fog.

"Peter has an internship with Tony Stark. I don't think he has to worry." Her dad's eyes flew to Peter's in the rearview mirror.

"Really...Stark." The man hummed, nodding, obviously impressed. "What do you do?"

"Oh...um...nothing much. Um...filing and stuff. I get coffee."

"And he got to hang out with Spiderman." Liz put in, and Peter felt his stomach clench at the name coming out of her mouth in this car...in the backseat of the Vulture's car.

"Really? Spiderman?" He lifted his eyebrows. "What's he like?"

"Yeah, he's nice!" Peter cursed himself when his voice cracked. "Solid dude." Liz 'awwed,' holding out her phone and showing Peter a picture of a puppy and a kitten cuddled up together on a chair. "So cute." He forced a smile, wishing he were anywhere else...wishing this wasn't happening. Wishing he was just a normal kid on his first kind-of date.

"I've seen you around somewhere...right?" Mr. Toomes asked, cocking his head as he stopped at a red light. "I mean...somewhere. We've...have we ever…because...the voice. I'm sure I've heard your voice before."

"He does academic decathlon with me. And he was at my party." Liz put in.

"It was a great party. Really...really fun." Liz grinned at him. She was so pretty...and she was smiling at him...why couldn't he just...pretend? Forget about the Vulture and Spiderman and superheroes for the night. Just be a normal kid.

"You were there for, like, two seconds." She reminded him, laughing a little. "Then you disappeared."

"I...I did not disappear." Peter tried to argue, but she shook her head, phone in her lap.

"You totally did. You're always disappearing."

"I am not…" His voice was weak, but she didn't seem to hear him...just kept talking about how he kept disappearing at inopportune moments and the man was staring at him with a growing realization in his eyes and Peter needed to text Mr. Stark. Because this man wouldn't hurt his daughter...wouldn't hurt him while he was in the car with her. Right?

"And I heard that you ditched detention...did you see what happened with the ferry that day?"

"Yeah...I mean...I was home but…"

"Spiderman and Iron Man were both there. Did they tell you about it?"

"I...no. They didn't really talk to me about it. They don't talk to me about stuff like that."

"Well, those people were very lucky that Spiderman was there that day. Good old Spiderman."

Peter slipped his hand in his pocket, squeezing his phone gently but not pulling it out. Mr. Toomes was staring at him almost constantly as he drove. He couldn't risk calling him right now.

"Here we are. End of the line." Peter didn't bother moving as Liz started to climb out of the car. "You head in there gumdrop. I'm going to give Peter the Dad talk."

Liz rolled her eyes with a laugh, reaching out and touching Peter's arm. "Don't let him intimidate you."

There were more pleasantries, but as soon as Liz was out of the car, Mr. Toomes turned in his seat, glancing back at Peter. "Does she know?"

"Know what?" The man chuckled a little.

"So she doesn't. Good. Close to the vest. I admire that. I've got a few secrets of my own. Of all the reasons I didn't want my daughter to date...Peter nothing is more important than family. My daughter...she really seems to like you. So I'm gonna give you one chance." Heart pounding in his chest, Peter watched the man turn even further in the seat, a gun in his hand. "You walk through those doors, you forget any of this happened, and don't you ever, ever interfere with my business again. Because if you do...I'll kill you and everybody you love. I'll kill you dead. That's what I'll do to protect my family. Do you understand?"

He did. As he nodded, and thanked the man through frozen lips for saving his life, and dropped his phone onto the floorboard of the back seat, he understood. He understood that as much as he wanted to be normal, as much as he wanted to just be any kid at his Homecoming dance with his friends and a beautiful girl...he couldn't. Because he'd made a choice.

Liz saw on his face that something was wrong even before he reached her. She watched him approach, obviously concerned, and he shook his head, pausing in front of her and filling his hands go steady at his side.

He'd made a choice.

"What did he say to you?"

He took a deep breath, giving her a sad smile and knowing that this was it…that he was throwing it away. "Gotta go."

"What…"

"I'm sorry...you don't deserve this."

And she didn't. She didn't deserve any of this. Neither did he. But his old suit was under his lockers and his phone was in the Vulture's car, and he had to figure out a way to contact Mr. Stark. But first, he had to find the Vulture.


	11. The Best of Us All

Tony's phone was automatically set to ignore numbers that weren't saved in his contact list. Usually, at the end of the night, he would have Friday sort through his messages and see if any were worth keeping. He'd added Peter's number a few weeks ago...back when he'd finally given the boy his number.

Glancing over at his phone, he paused in the middle of his work, grabbing it and finally giving into temptation, only to find no new messages from Peter. He was sure that the kid was on his way to the dance by now...and to be honest, he didn't know why he wanted a picture of Peter and his date. But he did. He cared about this kid...wanted to be involved in his life. So...yeah. Yeah, he wanted a picture of the kid with his homecoming date. He kind of wanted to frame it. Put it up in his lab.

"Sir?" Friday asked, interrupting his thoughts, and he jumped a little. "You have received three calls in the past two minutes from a friend of Peter Parker's. A mister Ned Leeds." Tony frowned at that, going to his missed calls and looking at the three on top. An unknown number. Why would Ned Leeds have this phone number?

He hit redial, not loving the clenching feeling in his stomach. Surely it was fine. It had to be fine. Maybe Pete had given his friend the number in case of emergencies and now the kid was just using it as a party trick at their dance. Annoying but not dangerous, really. Honestly, it was the scenario he would have preferred. He would give the kid a lecture and then it would all be fine. Peter was fine.

Ned answered after one ring. "Mr. Stark? Oh god, Mr. Stark…"

"It's me, kid. What do you need? What's going on?"

"It's Ned...sir…"

Tony had to smile a little at this kid, shaking his head a little. "I know, Ned. I called you, remember?"

"Yeah…right…"

"What's the matter, Ned?" He prompted.

"It's Peter, sir…he...um…"

"Ned?"

"It's Liz's dad! Liz...his homecoming date! Her dad is the Vulture!"

Tony took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching his nose as he jumped up. Liz...the girl Peter was going to Homecoming with. Her father was the Vulture. Why couldn't the kid catch a single break? "How do you know?"

"Peter told me! He came into the dance and told Liz that he had to go and that she didn't deserve this and then he ran out of the room and I followed him because I'm his guy in the chair and then I was out in the parking lot and Peter was in his old suit and that Shocker guy was all like 'you made the wrong choice' or something and then he was, like, throwing busses and stuff, and he was about to get Peter but I grabbed his webshooter and shot the Shocker with it and then Peter told me I saved him and…"

"Ned." Tony interrupted, his armor forming around him. "Where is Peter now?"

"Um...he left his phone in Mr. Toomes's car and then he stole Flash's car…"

"He stole…" Tony started, shooting out the window and pushing his thrusters to full power. He wasn't sure exactly where to go, but figured 'toward the city' was a safe bet.

"And he doesn't know how to drive but he's figuring it out and he's following Toomes and…"

"Okay. I'm on my way..tell Peter I'm coming, okay?" He ended the call without giving Ned a chance to answer. "Friday? Track Peter's phone."

Tracking Peter's phone led him to a car parked outside of a parking garage, and he touched down, glancing in the car, breaking the window, and grabbing Peter's phone from the back seat. The noise of what sounded like thrusters came from inside the building then, and he hurried inside, trying to keep quiet just in case. Someone was talking...the Vulture. It had to be. Tony couldn't really recognize the voice, but the mask he'd worn must have modified it.

Stealth mode wasn't really his thing.

"What are you talking about? That thing didn't even touch me yet!" He heard Peter cry as Tony stepped into the room, and he saw the man who must have been the Vulture pull out a knife, cutting his arm free from what looked like webbing. Toomes wasn't looking at him, though. He was grinning at Peter who was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in his old suit.

"True...then again, I wasn't really trying to."

Peter stiffened right before there was a rumble all around them, and Tony raced forward, arm reaching out, Peter's name on his lips. It was coming down! Information about the support beams flashed across his mask, but all he could see was Peter who had half-turned toward him, eyes huge, an arm out. And then the building was crumbling around them, plunging them into darkness.

Tony opened his eyes after what felt like only seconds but could have been longer. There was a headache blooming in his skull, and he thanked his past self for making the suit strong enough that he hadn't been crushed.

Crushed. His heart felt like it stopped for a moment, and Friday flashed an alert in the corner of his vision as the most important thing came back to him. Peter. Peter who hadn't even been in his real suit...who had been wearing what amounted to sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Peter!" He screamed, unable to move...to knock the building's worth of concrete off of him. "Pete? Talk to me, kid!" For a moment, there was silence, and Tony had to fight to keep breathing. The kid was okay. He had to be okay. Peter had to be okay. He wasn't going to lose the kid. He couldn't.

Then he heard it. "Mr. Stark?" The voice was small and so afraid and it broke Tony's heart.

"I'm here, kid. It's alright. We're going to…" He started, making his voice as calm as he could.

"I can't move...Mr. Stark...I'm trapped down here. I...help! Please!" Tony could hear in the boy's voice that he in the midst of what sounded like a panic attack.

"It's okay, Pete. It's okay. We're going to get out of here. Just breathe."

"Mr. Stark...I can't move...I can't get out…". The boy was crying. Soft sobs came from somewhere to his right and he tried to shift, but he was completely stuck. No matter how hard he pushed himself upright, he couldn't move, and he was afraid to just start blasting. Who knew how stable this thing was? What if he blasted something and hit Peter? He could barely tell which way was up. Fighting the urge to swear, he took a deep breath.

He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to save him. But he couldn't.

"Peter, listen to me." He told the boy, making his voice very serious. But the kid was still crying...still gasping for air. Tony didn't blame him. But they had to get out. Had to stop the Vulture. "Spiderman. Listen to me."

That did it. The boy took a shuddering breath, then went quiet. "Okay." He whispered, and Tony wanted to reach out to him. Clasp him on the shoulder and promise that everything would be okay. But at the moment, they had to get out from under this rubble.

"I need you to lift this off of us."

"I can't." And his voice was wrecked...so young and so afraid, that Tony wanted to let it go. He wanted to tell him that it was okay. That they'd be found sometime soon and they could just go back to the compound and eat ice cream...maybe watch a movie. Work in the lab. And they would do all those things, Tony swore it. But first, they had to get the Vulture. They had to be heroes.

Only Peter could get them out right now. The kid was strong enough, Tony knew it, even if Peter didn't.

"Yes, you can. You know why?"

"No."

"Because you're Spiderman." He meant it. He knew this kid, this brilliant, too-smart for his own good, sweet, brave kid, was born to be a hero, more than Tony ever was. "You're it, kid. The real deal. Someday soon, you're going to be the best of us. Everyone can see it. Not just the strongest or the smartest, although I'd put money on you being both of those things. The best." Peter was silent. "I know you're scared, and this is a really shitty situation. But you can get us out. Only you. You can do this, Spiderman. With or without your suit, it's who you are, kid."

There was silence...a silence so long and total that Tony feared the kid had passed out or something. He could be hurt, Tony cursed himself. Why hadn't he checked!? He had asked Peter to move an entire building and the kid might be hurt! Could be bleeding out. But before he could ask, the rubble was moving, and Tony's jaw dropped.

Believing something was one thing. Because he'd believed it. He'd seen what Peter could do and he was sure that the kid was strong enough. But seeing it...seeing it and experiencing it was another. "Come on, Spiderman!" Tony cried, his lips stretched in an incredulous smile as the concrete on his back began to shift Able to move a little more, he managed to sit upright a bit. The boy was doing it! He was actually lifting the building! "You can do this, Pete! Come on!"

The boy groaned, either from pain or effort, Tony couldn't tell, but the rubble was moving. The entirety of a parking garage and Peter was doing it! He was lifting it.

Whatever had been pinning Tony finally shifted off of him completely, and he jumped to his feet, turning to find Peter, in nothing but a sweatsuit, arms up, holding what must have been tons of concrete. The boy shoved it back, stepping out of the way, and Tony finally gave in to the impulse, hurrying forward and throwing his arms around him.

Peter only hesitated for a second before doing the same, his head resting under Tony's chin. "You did good, Pete. You did so good." He muttered, rubbing his back for a moment before placing his hands on Peter's shoulders, looking him straight on. "You good?" Peter nodded, wiping a hand over his face, leaving a trail of dust and what must have been blood. He was covered in the stuff, coughing a little as he stared up at Tony with huge eyes, his old mask crumbled in his hand.

"Are you okay, Mr. Stark? How did you get here?"

"I'm fine. Your buddy Ned called me. Told me that you were after your date's dad and that you stole a car." Peter hesitated, looking sheepish, and Tony chuckled, waving a hand. "Doesn't matter, bud. I don't care about the car. You still did good."

"I kind of totaled it." The boy muttered. Tony patted him on the shoulder.

"Alright...we'll work on driving lessons later. For now, any idea where the Vulture is going?"

Peter nodded. "Your plane. Moving day. He's going to try and steal it."

Moving day. Avengers tech...all of the Avengers tech was on that plane. If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now. "Okay. Can you hold on to me? Flying is going to be faster." Peter nodded immediately, and Tony wished that they had time to get his suit...his real suit. That one barely offered any protection at all. But they didn't have time. The Vulture could not get his hands on this tech. So they would make do. The kid was Spiderman, with or without the suit and Tony had his back. "Alright kid. Let's go get this asshole."

Peter grinned, pulling on his mask and grabbing onto the armor as Tony blasted off.


	12. Spiderman and Iron Man vs the Vulture (and a plane)

Peter gripped the Iron Man suit, doing his best to ignore the aches and pains as he moved. His ribs were killing him, and he had a sneaking suspicion that one might be broken. At least one. He could tell that the little cuts and bruises were healing, but this old suit didn’t connect to Karen so he couldn’t see anything about his vitals or what possible injuries he might have. He figured he could lay down when this was all done...sleep it off. He tried not to think of Liz...tried not to think about the fact that he was about to fight her dad. Or the fact that he’d left her at a Homecoming dance. Alone. 

She probably hated him now.

“You good kid?” Mr. Stark called, and Peter nodded before realizing that Mr. Stark couldn’t see him, considering he was on the man’s back, gripping the armor as Iron Man shot through the sky.

“Right. Yeah. I’m good.” He nodded again, more out of habit than anything else, practically screaming his words.

It was getting colder the higher they went, and Peter shivered, losing his grip for just a second. “Pete?” Mr. Stark called back to him.

“It’s cold,” Peter explained, matching his tone, and Mr. Stark went quiet for a moment, but then the outside of the armor began to heat up. “Oh! Thanks!” He yelled over the wind, cuddling a little closer. He felt more than heard the man chuckle, the armor shooting forward until they were close enough to see the plane in the distance.

“You ready, Underoos?” 

“Yeah!” He called, releasing him with one hand and lifting a webshooter to aim. The plan was a little...well...nonexistent really. They had just agreed to find the plane and stop the Vulture. He’d called Happy to give him some warning, but there wasn’t much Happy could do. Still, Peter was getting the chance to fight with Iron Man! Some part of him, the part that wasn’t just a little terrified, was thrilled.

He hadn’t expected Mr. Stark to show up at the warehouse. Not at all. Honestly, he hadn’t thought that Ned would be able to get through to him since he doubted Mr. Stark answered calls from random numbers. But then he’d turned around, right as he’d heard a ruble from above his head, and Iron Man had been there, reaching out an arm...and then they’d both been buried under the rubble.

When he’d come to...only seconds, it had seemed, after the collapse, he’d heard Mr. Stark yelling for him. Sounding afraid. Worried. The same way he’d sounded when he had reached out for Peter...when Mr. Toomes had made the whole thing fall. He’d been so afraid...terrified. Sure that this was it. Sure that he was going to die there. And even though he’d been with Mr. Stark, he’d still be so afraid. Until the man had started talking. Until Mr. Stark had calmed him down. Spoken to him in the dark. Promised him that it was okay. That Peter could do it...could get them out. 

Peter could barely see the plane against the dark sky thanks to the panels that made it all but invisible, but with his enhanced vision he could just make out the edges. Lifting a webshooter to aim, he started to shoot a web, but jumped a bit when Mr. Stark bit out a curse...and then there was a bang and something ricocheted off of Mr. Stark’s armor with a loud clang. Possibly a bullet. Peter couldn’t tell, but his senses were going off, sending a cold chill up his spine.

“Hang on, Pete!” The man swerved in the air but Peter felt his senses explode almost painfully, and he jumped, launching himself toward the plane and shooting a web just as the Vulture attacked. 

“Kid!” Mr. Stark screamed, swerving in the air and twisting around to face the Vulture, but Peter was too busy shooting a web at the plane and swinging around, gripping the outside as best as he could. There was no way the man would be able to hear him without comms, so he climbed around the side of the plane, gripping it for dear life and shivering as it shot through the air. He could just vaguely make out the sounds of a shouted conversation...of blasts and repulsors. Gripping the plane and moving slowly, body almost flat against the metal, he managed to climb around the side and catch a glimpse of them. Mr. Stark was shooting at the Vulture who swung around him, shooting back with some kind of alien weapon. And Peter felt absolutely useless on the sidelines.

Taking aim, he managed to shoot a web at the Vulture’s wing, yanking hard, and the man whirled around, a wing slicing through the webbing and shooting a blast at him...a blast from the alien weapon that he managed to duck away from just in time. It missed him...and hit the front of the plane.

And then it was losing altitude! Peter gasped, gripping the outside of the plane as it began to descend, speeding up until his fingers ached from holding on. The plane was going down. Fast. He could vaguely hear Mr. Stark yelling for him, but then the Vulture was after him again, the Iron Man suit and the Vulture twirling around the sky like dancers, stray blasts from repulsors and whatever alien weapon the Vulture had filling the air around the plane, and Peter crawled toward the wing, a desperate idea taking root.

Mr. Stark was busy with the Vulture and the plane was going to crash...but Peter couldn’t let it hit a populated area...he couldn’t let people die because of this...because of him. So he scrambled toward the wing, fingers slipping several times...would Mr. Stark be able to catch him if he fell? Would he get there in time? Peter tried to shove that thought away. He didn’t have time for a thought like that. Shooting a web at the wing and gripping the plane as tightly as he could, he pulled. Down below them, he could just make out the lights and roller coasters of Coney Island. There was a beach there...not a big one, but big enough to bring the plane down. There shouldn’t be any civilians at that time of night. He pulled harder, screaming when his ribs shifted and the air whipped around him. It was too heavy! Too big! He was too hurt! He couldn’t do this.

But he’d lifted a building off of himself and Mr. Stark less than an hour ago. He’d saved the both of them. Without the suit. And hadn’t Mr. Stark told him that he was Spiderman with or without it?

Peter pulled, and then the plane was turning. Peter gripped the webs as hard as he could, pulling, pulling, pulling. Pulling and leaning all the way back and the plane was turning toward the beach, hurtling toward the ground. Behind him, he could hear Mr. Stark and the Vulture fighting, and maybe Mr. Stark screaming...but he couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t make out much over the whine of the engine and the wind that whipped around him, and the ground was getting closer and closer.

The ground was getting closer and closer.

His parents had died in a plane crash.

Closing his eyes and gripping the wing of the plane, he braced himself, jaw clenched tight, teeth pressed too tightly together. They weren’t going to hit anyone! He’d done it! He’d…

Shaking. Rumbling. The sounds of metal breaking and twisting, and something exploding. A jolt. He couldn’t control his body, where it was going or flying or...

Ringing.

There was ringing in his ears and his whole body hurt and...all he could hear was the ringing. Constant, high pitched, blocking out every other sound. He managed to peel his eyes open after a moment, his body too heavy to move. All around him was fire. And boxes. Boxes and crates scattered on the ground and his head swam when he went to move, everything swirling around him, the ringing in his ears kicking up a notch.

He might have groaned...might have cried out. But he couldn't hear. Slowly, he became aware of more...of pain and the smell of fire and blood and faintly, he could hear something familiar. A roar of noise...footsteps, then a voice that sounded a thousand miles away.

“Kid? Come on, kiddo...come on!” A hand touched his side and he gasped in pain. “Come on Underoos. Look at me.” A hand on his shoulder tugged gently and he rolled over, reaching up and yanked his mask off as he sat up, head still swimming. “Easy, kid, easy. You just crashed a plane…”. The man trailed off, voice full of something like wonder. Mr. Stark. Iron Man. But...if Mr. Stark was with him...it didn’t make sense. It felt like he was swaying...maybe he was because in the next moment a firm hand gripped his shoulder and steadied him. 

“M’sorry…”

“What?”

“I didn’t...it was the only...I didn’t know how…”

“Hey, hey...don’t be sorry, Pete. That was good, kid. No one else got hurt...it was a good idea.” A hand brushed his hair back and Peter closed his eyes, chin bobbing for a moment before he was able to snap himself awake. “You with me, buddy?” He nodded, wiping a hand over his face and pressing it to his temple. 

“Yeah...yeah”. Peter muttered. “I’m good.” He said, barely aware of his own words. His mouth seemed to be moving on its own. He always told Mr. Stark that he was okay. He had to be, right?

“Yeah, you look it.” Mr. Stark chuckled, the sound still worried but also somehow fond. 

“Where’s Mr. Toomes?”

“Peter, you were just in a plane crash! I don’t give a shit where Toomes is.” Peter started to shake his head, but the movement hurt too much so he went still, a hand pressed to his temple. 

“We can’t let him get your stuff…”

“Easy, Pete. Just take a second.” The hand was firm on his shoulder, holding him upright. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He gave a shaky nod. Mr. Stark looked him in the eye for a long time, then stood and, taking the offered hand, Peter let the man pull him up. For a moment, he swayed, gripping Mr. Stark’s arm. 

“Pete? Hey, let’s get you somewhere you can sit. You need to rest, and then I’m going to get you to a doctor, okay?”

“But we’ve gotta get...get…”. Peter trailed off, eyes widening as a shadow fell over them, and Peter shoved Mr. Stark backward, the two of them landing in a heap, a blast hitting the ground in the spot where they’d been standing. 

Peter groaned, swearing under his breath when his whole body gave an angry throb in protest. But the Vulture was still there and they still had to take him down before he got his hands on any of Mr. Stark’s stuff. They couldn’t let him get away again!

Jumping back up, Peter shot a web at the Vulture as Mr. Stark launched himself in the air. Peter managed to catch him in the foot with a web, then jumped, pulling as hard as he could, trying to hold him still for a moment. Mr. Stark shot around the side, shooting at the Vulture with his repulsors, aiming for the wingsuit while Peter dodged a stray blast...or maybe it was a bullet. His brain wasn’t quite responding. Still, he held the man, shooting another web to make sure. With Peter holding him still for a moment, Mr, Stark managed to damage his wings enough that the man was sent plummeting to the ground.

Toward the fire.

If he landed in that fire, his suit might explode. He would die.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion...so very far away. Peter felt like he was struggling to keep up. To figure out what was happening. There had been a plane and the beach…his head swam like it was full of water. Had he been in the water? Either way, Mr. Toomes was falling. Plummeting. Towards the fire.

Peter raced forward, jumping onto one off the crates and leaping, arms outstretched. Wrapping his arms around Mr. Toomes, barely avoiding the razor-sharp edges, he landed hard, holding the man tight. All around them was fire, and Peter could barely breathe with all the smoke, but he had to get them out. Picking a direction that he was pretty sure would lead them out of the fire, he stumbled forward. He was moving on autopilot, gasping for air but trying not to breathe too deeply and hurt his ribs any more...they already hurt so bad. And catching the Vulture had only made them hurt more. 

Mr. Stark met him as soon as he was out of the flames, grabbing his shoulder and leading him away from the fire. Peter stumbled forward, carrying Mr. Toomes over to the sand and dropping him carefully on the ground. Staggering a little and pressing a hand into his side, he let Mr. Stark grab his arm, holding him upright for a moment before turning to Toomes. 

Mr. Stark knelt beside the man, wrestling him out of the wingsuit and discarding the scrapped metal on the beach. Not wanting to disturb him, Peter looked around for his mask on the dark beach, the only light coming from far off carnival booths and the fire that was consuming parts of the plane. “Mr. Stark…”. He spun around, searching for his mask, and then he was sitting down hard on the sand, tripping over his own feet and letting his eyes close for a second.

“Peter? Hey, kid...look at me.” The order somehow cut through the fog and the ever-present ringing in his ears, and he managed to meet Mr. Stark’s eyes for a moment. The man wasn’t in the suit...had he taken it off? “I called Happy. He’s on his way, bud. It won’t be long...just try to stay with me.”

“Mr. Stark...I don’t...don’t feel so good…”. He admitted, and the man gripped his arm, the world spinning around him in a blur. “I don’t...don’t feel…”

“You’re okay. Just hold on a…”

Peter didn’t remember closing his eyes...didn’t remember dropping forward into Mr. Stark’s arms. But the next thing he knew, he was laying on something that was moving, his head resting in someone’s lap. His whole body felt like it was made of lead...or something heavier. He gasped for air, flinching when that upset his ribs. He pressed his hand to his side, taking a much shallower breath, and this time a hand ran through his hair. “Pete? You with me, kid?” Mr. Stark asked, his voice on the verge of panic. 

“Yeah...yeah, I’m...I’m good.” He muttered, wondering why talking was suddenly so hard.

“That’s what you said last time, about five minutes before you passed out on me, so forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” The hand remained on his head though, fingers combing his dusty, filthy hair back. He peeled his eyes open and stared at the roof of a car, then at Mr. Stark who was bleeding from a cut over his temple and another on his cheek. “Stay put until we get back to the Compound, okay? I’ve got Doctor Cho at the compound. She’s going to take a look at you, okay?”

“Doctor…”. He muttered, trying to understand. Mr. Stark was talking so fast. Did he always talk so fast? 

“You saved my ass, kiddo, you know that?”

Peter furrowed his brow. That didn’t sound right. “You’re the one that got him.”

“You’re the one that figured out who he was. You’re the one that went after him. Lifted a building off of us. Saved countless people from a plane crash by crashing it yourself. Saved Toomes when he would have burned to death. So you didn’t just save my ass, kid. You...you did good Pete. You did great.” Those fingers kept trailing through his hair, his other hand squeezing Peter’s shoulder, his grip gentle. “You did great, Spiderman.” 

Peter closed his eyes, turning a little so that the pressure was off his ribs, and made himself comfortable in Mr. Stark’s lap, too out of it to be embarrassed when the man gave a soft, worried chuckle.


	13. The Calm After the Storm

Tony stared down at the boy on his lap, a hand on his hair, gently working through the filthy, matted curls. He was sure that his own hair was in a similar state...he felt like he could use a nice shower...and maybe a massage. And he hadn't been the one to lift a building off of himself and then crash a plane. The kid had. Without his suit...not that Peter needed it to be Spiderman. But without it, Tony had no idea how badly he was hurt. And he needed to know that because the kid was definitely hurt. Tony would put his money on concussion and probably some broken ribs. The kid had been out of it since the plane crash, but even then, he'd helped Tony take down Toomes...and then he'd saved the man's life.

This kid was the real deal.

In the front seat, Happy threw another nervous glanced back at them, his eyes drifting down to Peter. "Tony…"

"You already informed Helen?" Tony checked.

"Yeah. She's waiting in the Medbay. But is...is he…"

"He'll be fine." Tony bit out, looking down at the boy on his lap and resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Peter would be fine. He very determinedly didn't think about finding the boy in the rubble...how the kid's eyes had refused to focus. He didn't think about leading Peter away from the beach and then turning to find him on the ground, barely able to sit up on his own. Or the feeling of the boy collapsing in his arm and being unable to tell how hurt he was. Being afraid to move him. Carefully scooping him up and carrying him to a waiting car where Happy had nearly had a fit.

Peter groaned a little in his sleep and Tony resumed the motion of running a hand through his hair, hoping to soothe him a little. He had only woken up for a minute or two but had been coherent enough to have something like a conversation. Sort of. At least he'd seemed to understand what was happening. So the head injury hadn't been too bad...well, that was Tony's fervent hope. "You're alright, kiddo." Tony murmured, removing his hand from Peter's hair, then paused when he saw the blood on his hand.

Gently he prodded Peter's head once more, finding the gash that was the source of the blood. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he pressed it to the gash, using enough pressure to stop the bleeding but hopefully not hurting him. They needed to clean him up. Hopefully, find him some pain medicine and get him into a real bed.

In his lap, the boy whimpered and Tony flinched. The kid was hurt. He'd done everything right...at least, it seemed like he had. He'd gotten closer to Peter. Hung out with him. Made sure he felt heard and valued...because he was! Tony valued him so much. Hell, he loved the kid. But he'd still gotten hurt. That wasn't fair, some small, angry part of him whispered. Not fair that Peter had been hurt by this asshole. Not fair that the boy had been crushed in an abandoned building, and had been forced to lift it himself.

But Peter had done it anyway.

"Easy, bud. You're okay." He told the boy, running his fingers carefully through his hair, trying not to go near the gash. "I've gotcha, kid. You're alright."

"Is he?" Happy asked, voice tight. "He just crashed a fucking plane." Tony was well aware...and Happy didn't even know about the warehouse yet.

"He will be."

They pulled up to the Compound what felt like hours later, It wasn't, of course. Happy had practically floored it the whole way there, throwing nervous looks back at Tony and the kid in the mirror. Tony wanted to make a joke about not knowing that Happy cared...but of course he knew.

Dr. Cho met them at the car, pausing when she caught sight of Tony and Peter in the back seat, Peter's head pillowed in Tony's lap, the bleeding in his head having finally stopped. Or At least slowed. He'd been holding the handkerchief there the whole time, and it was soaked in red and staining his hand and his pants, but Tony barely noticed. Helen glanced from Peter to Tony, eyebrows lifting, and for a moment, he thought she was going to ask what the heck they'd been up to. Instead, she gestured to the man who was walking behind her with a gurney. Tony slipped an arm under the boy's knees and pulled him up to rest his head on his shoulder. "Alright, kiddo. Now would be an excellent time for you to wake up and give me a hand." He told Peter without much hope.

He didn't even stir.

"Right," Tony muttered, scooting his legs over and out of the car as he cradled Peter in his arms, the boy's bony hip resting on his leg. The kid wasn't all that heavy, but it was awkward to turn and not hit his head on anything. The man with Helen, a nurse he sort of recognized, leaned in to take him, careful of the boy's head, straightening with a grunt and placing him on the bed they'd rolled out.

"Are you hurt?" Helen asked, sparing Tony a glance.

"Not really." He waved her off, shutting the door behind him and watching the nurse strap Peter onto the gurney. Helen was lifting one of Peter's eyelids and shining a light. Immediately, Peter jerked away, a whimper escaping as his eyes scrunched shut. He tried to move, but he was strapped down, and Tony hurried to grab his shoulder before he could really freak out. "Hey, hi...kiddo. It's okay."

"Mr. Stark…"

"Yep. It's me. You're fine. Just relax, bud."

"But...I can't…"

"You're on a gurney. We're going to get you to the Medbay and Helen is going to look you over. You're safe, kid." Peter blinked at him, then nodded, eyes drooping once more. "There you go, bud. You just rest."

"Mkay." He murmured, releasing a breath and slipping back into sleep. Peter trusted him...enough to go back to sleep after waking up strapped to a gurney. Tony smiles a bit, patting his shoulder, then followed as the bed was wheeled into the building. Helen had a tablet in her hand and was typing furiously all the way to the Medbay where she had the nurse help her slide Peter into a bed.

"He was in a plane crash," Tony told her, standing off to the side. "Hell...he caused a plane crash. He was on the outside of the plane...and he crashed it and he was fighting the Vulture and earlier he had a building dropped on him." She blinked, staring up at him for a moment, then nodded, sighing under her breath. "He lifted it." Tony went on, eyes darting to the boy once more. The nurse was cutting the boy's suit and he flinched...Peter had made that himself. Still, he didn't say anything. Didn't tell her to stop. He never told Helen to do anything.

Tony had to fight the urge to ask how Peter was. If his injuries were bad. Because they had to be bad. The boy had lifted a whole building off of himself. The kid had to be hurt. He'd passed out. Hit his head. But Tony was afraid to know what exactly had happened. How bad he was actually hurt. So he hovered for a while until Helen shot him a look. "You've got to let me work."

"I don't want...I don't want him to wake up alone." She lifted an eyebrow. "I…"

"I'll call for you if he starts to wake up." She told him, voice somewhat sharp. Then she softened. "I promise. Just give me an hour to get him settled."

Tony nodded, wiping a hand over his mouth, then headed upstairs.

He paused at the bar, reaching into the cabinet to grab a glass, staring at it for a moment. He wanted to fill it without something amber-colored and strong...wanted to throw it back and forget, just for a moment, what it had looked like to see Peter, dazed and sick-looking...how he'd turned around, and then when he'd seen him again, the boy had been on the ground, swaying. Staring up at him with pupils blown and lips trembling as he'd tried to understand.

The kid would be fine. He was enhanced. Peter had known him. Had been talking. He would be fine. Tony put the cup down, staring at it for a moment, then replaced it in his cabinet, holding his hand against the cabinet door. No. He wasn't going to drown himself...wasn't going to dull it. He needed to be there when Peter woke...the kid would need him.

He needed the kid.

Tony sighed, moving over to the sofa and dropping onto it, wiping a hand over his face. He was sore. Tired. Old. Then again, he was old. Changing his mind, he pushed himself off of the sofa and headed to his bedroom. He needed a shower. A change of clothes. Maybe to call Peter's aunt, but he had no idea what he could tell her. He knew he owed her something, though, so he grabbed his phone out of his pocket on his way to his room, dialing her number.

She answered after a few rings, her voice hesitant. She probably didn't have his number saved. "Mrs. Parker? This is Tony Stark. I'm sorry to bother you…"

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Stark. How can I help you?" She asked, sounding almost concerned.

"It's actually about Peter."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes. Of course...he's fine." Tony lied. "There was a...a project. An internship project…"

"I'm sorry?" She asked, and he cursed himself for not rehearsing this.

"No, I'm sorry. Um...I asked him if he wanted to come to the compound after his dance and he said yes. He was helping me with an internship program and he fell asleep."

"Oh. Um...he didn't tell me." She sounded upset. Almost angry, and he tried to intervene.

"That's on me. I'm sorry...I should have asked you first. Or had him call you. It was a time-sensitive project and I thought he could use the experience but...it's on me. I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker." And he was. He was sorry that he'd dragged her nephew into this and sorry that Peter had been hurt. He was sorry that he hadn't gotten to the kid in time to save him from being buried under a building and sorry that Peter had crashed a plane. Most of all, he was sorry that it was going to happen again. Not this part, exactly. He would do his best to make sure that Peter didn't get crushed under rubble or crash a plane.

But Peter would get hurt again. Because Peter was Spiderman. He was a superhero. And superheroes got hurt.

May blew out a breath. "It's okay. Just...um...make sure he calls me next time...please."

"Of course." He hurried to assure her. He knew the kid didn't want to tell his aunt, and he understood that, but they would have to at least try to keep her in the loop. "Again, I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay, Mr. Stark. He loves that internship, you know? Just...loves it. Sometimes I have to triple check to make sure he did his homework at night…"

"I'll start reminding him." He offered, and she laughed, the sound making something in him unclench. She had been fooled. Peter would be okay.

"Don't tell him I told you that. He'd kill me." There was a fondness in her voice that made him smile. "How is it going? The internship?"

"He's doing a wonderful job." Tony wasn't lying, not even a little. "Pete's one of the best. You should see him work in the lab sometime. I can give you a private tour."

"If I can ever get a day off." She told him, her tone telling him that she wasn't quite joking. A thought struck him then, one that he was working out before he'd even finished his next sentence.

"I didn't tell him yet, but I'd like him to apply for one of the paid internships with Stark Industries."

"A...a paid internship? Really?"

"Pepper has been pushing for it,". He lied, "and I think we're going to have one or two opening up soon. I'm sure he'd be perfect for it." Peter would be perfect for it because the spot would be designed just for him. "I'll probably ask him about it this week if it's okay with you."

"Oh...of course. Of course, it's okay. I'm...wow...I'm sorry. I'm just surprised." She laughed a little, the sound full of her surprise. "That would be amazing. He'll be so happy. Thank you, Mr. Stark."

"You can call me Tony, Mrs. Parker. And you're very welcome."

It was the least he could do for the kid. The very least. And he wanted the kid close. Wanted to make him a real part of the team. The internship was just the first step.

He headed back to the Medbay after hanging up the phone, his footsteps loud in the empty hallways. He hadn't given Helen quite an hour, but he figured it was close enough. She seemed to be expecting him when he stepped into the room, glancing up from her tablet and giving a wry smile. "You took longer than I'd expected."

He chuckled a bit, worry breaking through the amusement. "How is he?"

Sighing, she held up the tablet, gesturing at the display so that it appeared above the screen in hologram form. A list. "The concussion is my top priority right now. There were broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, but he concussion was my biggest concern. It's already getting better, thanks to his enhanced healing, but I'd like to keep an eye on it. He hasn't woken up since I got him settled. Lots of cuts and bruises and muscle strain, so I have him on some pretty strong pain medication. He might wake up tonight, but I can't be sure."

"I'm going to sit with him." She nodded, probably already knowing that.

"Of course. Have you contacted his aunt?"

"I told her that he was sleeping over." Helen gave him a disapproving look but didn't say anything, just led him to the little curtained off area where Peter was lying, dressed in a hospital gown, the blankets up to his chest. In the back of one hand was a needle, the tubing taped to his hand so it wouldn't get dislodged. Tony had to assume that the bag hanging beside him was pain medicine. On the inside of his elbow was another needle, and Tony followed that one to another bag hanging from a pole.

"Hey, kid."

Peter had been cleaned up, the blood and dust and sand scrubbed from his hair and body, and his damp hair had been combed out of his face. But his face was still colorful with mottled bruises...his arms too. A monitor at his side displayed his heart rate and oxygen levels, a nasal cannula supplying the oxygen which Tony thought was probably a precaution. Then again, then kid had inhaled plenty of dust and smoke, so maybe not.

Pulling a chair over, he sat down on Peter's left side, which seemed to have fewer bruises. Reaching out, he took the boy's hand, careful not to touch the needles or bother any of the tubes. "Hey, buddy. It's Tony. Did I mention how impressed I am? Because, holy shit, Pete. You took down a plane. By yourself. You pretty much single-handedly saved the day. Took down the Vulture in a pair of sweatpants and saved all of the Avengers tech." Tony squeezed his hand a little. "Now you can get some rest, huh? Take a break from giving me a heart attack every few minutes." He ran his free hand over his face, smiling at Peter and shaking his head. "I'm glad you're okay. I'll be right here when you wake up. Well...I'm going to have a bed brought in because I'm old and it's been a long night, but I'll be in the room." Running his thumb over the bruised knuckles, Tony stared down at the boy's black and blue arm. "I'm sorry you missed your dance, buddy."

The bed they brought in wasn't great, but it was better than trying to sleep in a metal chair. Rolling it right up to the kid's bed, he made himself comfortable, listening to the soft sounds of Peter breathing until, more quickly than he would have guessed, he fell asleep.

His kid was safe. The rest, he could deal with in the morning.


	14. An Invitation to Join

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started this story, it was supposed to be a two-shot, maybe. I had no plans to make it a full-fledged story, but ideas kept coming and people were reviewing and reading, and so it became an actual retelling of Homecoming, which was fun! :) So a huge thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I appreciate all of you so much. I hope you enjoy the final chapter.

Peter wasn't in his room. There were a couple of things that gave it away. He wasn't in his bed, for starters. This one was...different. Soft, but narrow. And he could feel his shoulder pressing up against something that wasn't the wall. It was...something else. The biggest difference from his own room...the smell. He smelled disenfectant and alcohol. His own room smelled like laundry that may or may not be dirty. It smelled like his body spray and the food he might have forgotten to throw away. It smelled like the air freshener that May sprayed in there every week when she made him clean up...not Febreeze but the off brand that cost half as much.

There was another smell in the room...cologne. A cologne that he recognized. And aftershave. He wrinkled his nose and groaned, trying to take it in. Trying to remember. He knew that he was safe. That cologne meant that he was safe. His head ached...heck, so did the rest of his body. He twitched his fingers, trying to move, and they responded, but slowly. Slowly like he'd been drugged...drugs. Something clicked. He was in the Medbay. When he shifted his arm, he could feel something tug at his wrist…a needle in his arm. They were giving him pain meds. The good ones. Because...he searched his memory, but nothing much came up. He remembered...nothing.

Even trying to remember made him too tired to move...too tired to try any more. So he gave up, relaxing into the soft bed and letting himself sleep once more. He didn't dream, and it seemed like he was only asleep for a few minutes before someone took his hand, a thumb rubbing carefully over his knuckles. There was something in his arm, and a blanket was pulled up to his chest. This time, he was more aware. More awake. And with a rush, he remembered. How could he have forgotten?

Homecoming. The Vulture...Liz's dad. The warehouse. And...the plane. Fighting the Vulture with Mr. Stark. The beach...the fire. Peter twitched his fingers, trying to signal to the other person that he was awake, and the hand resting on his squeezed a little. "Hey, bud. You with me?" Peter groaned, trying to nod. Trying to rouse himself. But it was like something in his system was working against him. "We've got you on the good stuff, Pete. You're okay." The hand on his patted his knuckles gently. "I'm going to be right here when you wake up, kid. Well...until you take too long. I have a famously short attention span." Peter barely managed to make his lips twitch into a smile before he went under once more.

The third time was, apparently, the charm. The first thing Peter was aware of was cologne. The familiar one...Mr. Stark's cologne, his mind helpfully provided. Mr. Stark was in the room...so he was safe. Peter took a deep breath, nose twitching when he felt something on his face. He brought up a slow hand to dislodge whatever it was, but a hand caught his, holding it down. "Ah ah...don't touch that, Underoos. It's supplying oxygen which, you may remember from science class, is, in fact, necessary for your continued survival." Peter was sure that, given enough time, he could puzzle out the meaning of that sentence. At the moment, though, his brain seemed to be stuck in neutral, and he forced his eyes open, blinking slowly at Mr. Stark who was sitting at his bedside.

"Huh?"

The man chuckled, eyes soft. "Those drugs should be out of your system soon. We've got you on something a little lighter. Hopefully, that will be more conducive to critical thinking."

"Uh...okay."

He brought a hand up and brushed some hair out of Peter's face, smiling. "How are you feeling, kiddo?"

"Okay…" Peter blinked a few times, scrunching his eyes tight then opening his eyes wide, doing his best to focus. "Doesn't...it doesn't really hurt."

"Good." Mr. Stark patted his hand. "Do you remember what happened?" He nodded.

"Uh...yeah. The Vulture...you got him." The man's eyes widened, and he shook his head with a chuckle.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you not caught up." Mr. Stark clapped his hands. "Okay, previously on 'Peter Parker Saves the Day and My Ass' you figured out who the Vulture was, left your Homecoming dance so that you could track him down, lifted an entire warehouse off of the both of us, saving not only yourself but Iron Man as well, stopped the Vulture from stealing all of the Avengers tech by crashing a plane without any casualties or property damage, and then walked through fire and saved the Vulture's life because you're a much better person than I am. Any of that ringing any bells?" Peter nodded, smiling tiredly.

"Yeah."

"Chatty when you're high on pain meds, aren't you?" The question was obviously rhetorical, and Mr. Stark placed a hand on Peter's hair. "Here." Reaching back, he grabbed a pitcher of water, pouring some into a glass and holding it out, supporting it as Peter took a drink. It felt like heaven on his throat, and he practically inhaled it. "Easy, Pete. Don't choke." Mr. Stark told him with a chuckle. "Better?" Peter nodded. "Do you want to eat something?" Peter shook his head, wiping the hand without a needle over his face. "I'm going to have Helen come in and take a look...make sure you're healing okay."

Dr. Cho did come and take a look at him, during which Mr. Stark stayed right by his side, not quite in the way of her exam, but close. She checked his head, letting him know that the concussion had mostly healed and that he should let someone know if he started having blurry vision or had any kind of severe headaches. He promised, and then, to his surprise, she removed the needle, then disconnected him from the machines surrounding him.

"You'll probably feel tired for a few more hours. Don't try to read for the rest of the day, and try to avoid looking at your phone for too long." She turned to Mr. Stark then, probably giving him a list of instructions, but Peter didn't really listen. Couldn't get himself to focus. Instead, he closed his eyes, resting until Mr. Stark put a hand on his arm, helping him sit up a little, then got an arm around him.

"How about we move this party to the sofa, huh?"

"Mkay." Peter nodded, putting an arm around Mr. Stark and letting the man help him to his feet. Thankfully, he was dressed in pajamas. Really, really soft pajamas. Frowning, he lowered his eyes only to find that he was wearing the Hello Kitty pajama pants and an Iron Man pajama shirt.

"I thought it was a fun mashup." The man told him, gesturing at his outfit with a smirk. Peter snorted, rolling his eyes, but didn't complain when he was lowered into a wheelchair. Well, he started to complain, but it felt so good to be sitting down again, so he didn't bother, just slumped in the chair and let Mr. Stark push him down the hallway and into an elevator which took them to Mr. Stark's floor. The man wheeled him into the room and right up to the sofa, then slipped an arm around him once more, easing him onto the couch. "How you doing, Pete?"

"M'fine." He assured his mentor, blinking and trying to wake himself up. He was feeling a little less groggy...hopefully, it would pass soon. Then he remembered that Mr. Stark had been with him last night. That the two of them had fought together. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Pete." Mr. Stark sat down beside him, ruffling his hair. "You took the brunt of it. I just flew around and looked pretty."

The man was surprisingly relaxed, leaning against the arm of the sofa, regarding him with fondness and something else...relief. His mentor seemed relieved. "How long was I asleep?"

"We brought you in Friday night...well...close to Saturday morning. It's Sunday, about 10 in the morning."

"What about…"

"May." Mr. Stark finished for him, the two of them speaking the word in tandem, Peter worried, Mr. Stark somewhat amused. "I told her that you were helping with an internship project, kept it vague...and...okay, I might have had Friday send her a couple of text messages...from you." Peter blinked at him in surprise. "Just a couple to assure her that you were okay and that you'd call as soon as you could. I think I said there was a problem with the labs or something...just keep it vague. You've been texting her to let her know that you're fine and that you love her and all that jazz." Mr. Stark waved a hand.

"Oh...um...thank you."

"Sure thing, Pete. Keeps her from yelling at me, so I'm happy." Peter snorted a little, and Mr. Stark patted him on the knee. "Sorry about the whole semi invasion of privacy thing."

"It's fine. As long as May doesn't worry…" He waved a hand and the man smiled. "Can I call her?" Mr. Stark nodded, holding out Peter's cellphone.

"Of course. You should be good to go home tonight. That is unless you want to try and convince Aunt Hottie to let you miss school tomorrow so that you can get some more rest and maybe let me introduce you to your new internship."

"New…" Peter started. Mr. Stark grinned, gesturing toward Peter's phone.

"Call your aunt. Let her know that you really are okay. And then we can talk." Mr. Stark patted him on the back, then pulled himself to his feet, heading out of the room and leaving Peter to his phone call. Pushing thoughts of internships out of his mind, Peter dialed his aunt and smiled when she answered on the second ring.

"Peter?"

"Hey, May. Sorry…"

"Peter, are you okay?" She cut in, and he cursed himself for worrying her.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"I've been waiting for you to call all morning. You said you'd call as soon as you woke up."

"I know. Um...I think I've got a cold or something." He lied, hoping he sounded at least somewhat convincing. He coughed once for effect, then waited, wondering if that had been too much.

"Really?"

"Yeah, um...Mr. Stark said it was fine if I, uh...if I stayed here tonight since it's such a long drive and he has doctors here and everything. I know I'd have to miss school but I'm really not feeling great."

Immediately her voice went soft, and he felt guilt curl in his stomach, but not enough to make him take it back. "Okay, baby. Do you need me to come up there?"

"Oh, no...no, I'll be fine. Just a cold."

She hesitated. "Okay. How is the internship...emergency?" She asked, stumbling a little over the words. "Mr. Stark wasn't exactly clear on what you were doing." She sounded more apologetic than curious, but he gave it a shot anyway.

"Right. We were fixing the...AI. Mr. Stark's AI. It needed...programming and we had to restructure the...infrastructure."

May hummed...thankfully she never had been all that interested in science, so he figured he wouldn't need to worry about her listening too closely. "Okay. Well, it sounds like you're working hard. Just call me tomorrow? Let me know if you need me to pick you up."

"Okay. Love you, May."

"Love you, baby."

And that was that. Honestly, Peter wondered if he should worry that it no longer phased him to lie to May. "How does one restructure the infrastructure?" Mr. Stark wondered, approaching with a tray of sandwiches, and Peter grinned.

"Usually if I start using random science words she loses interest." The man smirked and put the tray on the coffee table, a bottle of Gatorade in his other hand that he handed Peter. While Mr. Stark grabbed a sandwich of his own, Peter practically drained it, then started eating one of the sandwiches, finishing it in a couple of bites before moving on to a second one.

"Don't forget to chew." Mr. Stark reminded him mildly, and Peter gave a sheepish smile.

"Healing makes me hungry." Every moment that passed made him feel more awake, and although he doubted he could go on patrols or spar with Captain America at the moment, he thought he might be able to stand up. Mr. Stark nodded, looking almost sad for a moment before giving him a tight smile.

"I know. Have as much as you want."

Once the food was devoured, Peter realized he didn't actually know what had happened to the Vulture. "Was Mr. Toomes okay? Did Liz find out what happened?"

"Toomes is fine. He's behind bars, where he'll be staying until his trial which will be in a few weeks. I'll be doing all the talking so you won't have to be there. No one will find out who Spiderman is. His daughter is fine...both she and his wife know what happened." Peter sighed, lowering his eyes. "It wasn't your fault, bud."

"I know." He shrugged. "It's just...sucks."

"Yeah. It does. And I'm sorry you had to miss your dance."

"Liz is never going to forgive me." He sighed, leaning back against the sofa. Mr. Stark wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing a little and pulling him close.

"I'm sorry, Pete." There wasn't much more he could say, Peter knew. For just a moment, he leaned his head against Mr. Stark's shoulder. "You want me to show up at your school and tell her that there was some kind of situation at Stark Industries and that you were my only hope?" Peter had to chuckle at that, and he felt Mr. Stark laugh when he did.

"Could you?"

"Sure. I'll plan a whole speech. It'll be great. Now, you think you're up for a visit to the lab?"

"The lab?"

"Yeah, Pete. Come on." Mr. Stark stood, holding out a hand that Peter took, and this time, he was able to stay on his feet. Still, the man kept an arm around him as he led him to the elevator. "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Peter assured him, pocketing his phone and following the man until they reached the, by now, mostly familiar lab. Mr. Stark led him to the station where he usually worked, letting him drop into what he'd begun to think of as his chair. "What are we doing in here?"

"I needed to show you something." He told him, voice casual as he pulled a folder off of his own desk, then dropped it onto the table in front of Peter. It was black with the Stark Industries Logo on the front in white.

"You needed to show me a folder that you couldn't just bring upstairs because…". Peter trailed off, grinning when Mr. Stark smacked him so gently on the back of his head.

"Because of the ambiance, Spider brat. Now open it." Peter watched the man drop into a chair and roll it over, coming to a stop as he bumped his knees against Peter's. "Come on, kiddo. Don't just stare at it."

Moving hesitantly, Peter opened the folder, then froze. On one side was an ID badge, a picture of him on the front that Mr. Stark has gotten from...somewhere or another, and underneath the picture, the words 'Peter Parker. SI Intern. Clearance Level: 10.' On the other side of the folder was a packet of papers, including something that looked like a tax form. "What...what is…"

"Don't worry. I'll show you how to fill it out. All of your banking information has already been filled out so that's where your paychecks will go."

"Wait...paychecks?"

"Yeah. Trust me, I pay better than any other internship around, plus, if you finish the internship, you'll be guaranteed a spot at SI...of course you're already pretty much guaranteed a spot."

"Mr. Stark...are you giving me…"

"A paid internship? No." Peter felt his stomach drop, cheeks heating up a little, but Mr. Stark continued on as if he didn't notice. "I'm not giving it to you. You earned it. Every week, hours flexible, it looks great on a college resume...what do you say?"

Peter stammered for a second, looking up at his mentor with huge eyes. "I...I don't...yes! I mean, yeah, of course! Thank you!" The man's eyes softened and he cupped Peter on the back of the neck, squeezing gently.

"Like I said, you earned it, Pete." For a moment, the man just stared at him, smiling softly, hand on his neck. But before Peter could break the silence, Mr. Stark went on. "I'm so proud of you kid. I hope you know that."

Peter felt his face flush once more and he dropped his eyes, lips turning up in a shy smile. "Thanks." He murmured.

"And...there's one more thing." He lifted his eyes, meeting Mr. Stark's. "The Avengers...they were supposed to be a team. A family. People who would fight the battles normal people couldn't fight and all that jazz. And...hell, Pete, I don't know that they ever were. A family. Now, it's all a mess and I wouldn't blame you for saying no. But…if the Avengers are ever going to be a team again, we're going to need the right people...good people. Good, loyal, smart-ass people like you."

This time, Peter felt his jaw drop. No way. No way Mr. Stark was saying what he thought he was saying.

"What do you think, Pete? Wanna join a dysfunctional team of superheroes?"

"Mr. Stark…"

"You'd still be in training for a while. A long while. And you'd have to take orders from Captain Pain-in-my-ass if he ever gets his shit together and comes back." He hesitated. "No pressure, but I kind of already called a press conference for next weekend just in case you said…"

"Yes." Peter broke in, nodding almost frantically. Did he want to work with Mr. Stark in and out of the lab? Get to learn from the greatest superheroes and be on their team and fulfill all of his childhood dreams? "Of course...yes! I...will I seriously be an Avenger?"

"Yeah, Pete. You will." Mr. Stark told him with that soft smile.

Then he had a thought. "Can I still patrol Queens? You know, look out for the little guy?"

"You are a little guy, but yeah."

"Mr. Stark…". Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought this moment would come. Not as a kid, not even after he'd actually met Iron Man...not after being pulled out of the Hudson or waking up in a hospital bed with Tony Stark at his side. But...it was happening. Mr. Stark wanted him on his team. "I...I don't know what to say…"

For a moment, it looked like the man was going to make a joke. He smirked just a little, eyes crinkling at the edges. But he must have seen something hopeful and insecure in Peter's eyes...something that Peter felt but couldn't name. And his smirk disappeared, replaced by something kind but serious. "I want you on my team, Peter. The Avengers were like my family, and you...you're like my family. I want it to be official. And it doesn't have to be now, but if you're up for it, so am I."

Peter swallowed hard, then nodded, biting down on his lip and fighting the heat in his eyes. For a moment, there was silence. Then Mr. Stark leaned in, pulling Peter close until his head was tucked under his mentor's. "I wanna be on your team too, Mr. Stark." He whispered. Mr. Stark sniffed softly, patting him on the back, and for a few minutes, they just sat together. Silent. Comfortable. Then, after what felt like an eternity but not nearly a long enough one to Peter, the man pulled away, gently disentangling himself.

"Alright, enough sappy stuff. How about we head back upstairs? You're supposed to be resting for the rest of the day, Helen's orders. We can watch a movie if you want. What are you thinking for dinner? Chinese or Pizza? Or, Chinese and Pizza? Or shawarma. You ever had shawarma, kid?"

Peter let his mentor pull him to his feet, leaning on Mr. Stark out of affection, not necessity, and he ruffled Peter's hair, squeezing him to his side in a hug. It felt right to be here. Perfectly right. Like this was exactly where he was meant to be. "Nope, never."

"Alright, Pete. Shawarma it is."

The End


End file.
